Bonnes Nouvelles!

After dragging around for what seems like weeks, I was relieved last week by a procedure, the thought of which had caused me a certain amount of anxiety: a pleural puncture, to draw off some residual liquid that had accumulated in the bottom of my right lung as a result of the surgery.  Although I dreaded the worst, I only felt the needle she used for the local anesthetic and then nothing thereafter. When I left the hospital, I felt as if I had been given wings!

This procedure was nestled in between the MRI the day before and the PET scan two days afterwards.  Being a cancer patient sometimes seems like a full-time job. I spoke with the doctor before the PET scan and emphasized to him that I had a meeting with my oncologist on Tuesday the 7th, which was yesterday.  He marked the file as urgent to make sure that she would have the results.

Yesterday, Mr. T and I met with Dr. D, both of us relaxed with no particular agenda in mind.  She had the results and explained that the PET scan showed no areas with hyper-metabolic activity and therefore considered that I was in complete remission.  Since it was what I had been expecting all along it took a minute before the reality of what she was telling me sunk in.  I looked at Mr. T to see if I could read on his face the same sort of relief that I was feeling, and sure enough, I detected a hint of a smile; I even got a hug when we were out of her office!

She was ready to stop the chemo after the treatment that I was there for yesterday, but I detected that she was in some way hesitant and perhaps trying to do me a favor by explaining that we could always do chemo again if required.  When I questioned her decision, she admitted that the protocol calls for two "consolidation cures"  at this point in the diagnosis, so I signed up for another session (June 28th) preferring to be safe than sorry.  I'm anxious to finish the LAST chemo so I can look forward to having my hair, eyebrows and eyelashes start growing again.  It strikes me as funny that in some ways I tend to take for granted the really good news of being in remission and am concentrating on the more vain aspects.  I guess I just want to look as normal as I feel.

So we left the oncologist's office and for the first time did not have to meet with the secretary to line up at least ten more appointments.  We headed straight for the day hospital, picking up our lunch along the way.  We got on the elevator, already crowded by the tea and coffee volunteers from "Les Amis de Bordet", and were joined by an older woman who had obviously just received some bad news. If she were making an effort to control her distress she was not being totally successful as she was on the edge of tears and was muttering softly to herself.  I could only try to comfort her a bit by putting my hand on her back and patting her from time to time.  Her fear and pain was palpable in the elevator, but perhaps the most difficult aspect for her fellow passengers was her solitude.  When we arrived at her floor, a young gentlemen (probably at least second generation Belgian but of obvious Arab descent) offered to accompagne her to her destination and left the elevator with her.  It was an incredibly touching moment and one that will unfortunately never be announced on the evening news.

I was really tired last night and slept through my various attempts at home entertainment, but woke up feeling just fine this morning.  I'm concentrating on wrapping up some paperwork and making last-minute preparations for Alec and Virginie's upcoming wedding (June 18th) and the arrival of Madelaine, Richard and Élodie (June 16th).  

There are SO many good things to look forward to!