Well, it's Cycle 7 and I had my 2-cycle CT scan. Things are stable, I'm told. The lung tumor is stable, the CEA marker is stable, and next scan (after Cycle 8) will be examined more closely. This means there's nothing new (that shows up, anyway), and nothing's growing…bone lesions look somewhat larger when they're healing, supposedly. The clinical trial nurse didn't spend much time with me at all. She forgot to give me my study drug refill.
It's always nerve-racking to hear the news after a scan. If they were going on how I feel, the news wouldn't be so bright. My voice is terribly hoarse, I've been coughing for the first time in months, it seems. I don't sleep too well, which explains the extra dozing time in the a.m. However, by all accounts, I'm moving around, my hip isn't bothering me too much, and I've gained 7 pounds or more over the holidays.
I wonder if I'll ever get to the point where my improvements might make them consider a curative effort? Like radiation to the lung and hip? This is wishful thinking I'm sure.
I awoke last night and couldn't get back to sleep. I was plagued by sadness and the thought of death—the certainty, yet the uncertainty of the time. It sounds ridiculous—we're all headed in that direction, I just took a different fork in the road and well, it makes me crazy. When I wake up, I'm reminded that I'm compromised and the clock is ticking. The gesture of taking the study drug each morning is all I need. Do people really tell themselves they could be hit by a truck today–each morning when they arise? Sometimes, I go into a sort of denial called forgetting—I feel good so I go about my day thinking about the future and all the things I might engage in—I dream about work, wondering if time was waived or not… But, oh wait, I'm ill…that's why I'm home. I don't think I can even leave the country.
Nothing makes one truly forget, but the moments when I do are bliss.