“Table for two,” I quipped, as Little Bear and I checked in for my oncology visit today. The nurse smiled, took my name, and waved me over to the seating area. I had my blood taken (with him perching in the chair with me, endlessly fascinated), waited another hour or so, and then we were ushered into the waiting room.
WonderDaddy, Little Bear, and I waited in that room, as we had so many times before. We were nervous, I was pacing (coincidentally the only position my back can stand besides lying down), and it seemed like another hour before the hematology/oncology fellow walked into the room.
Twenty minutes after that, my oncologist arrived, listened to me explain my back pain and fears again, checked me over, and said, “It doesn’t look like mets.”
Those were the five words I most wanted to hear today.
It doesn’t look like mets.
She asked for a PET scan and a CT anyway, and referred me to a spine specialist, so there are things that can be done to fix the problem and relieve the pain. But what I most feared — that this was the metastasis of cancer to my bones, necessitating maintenance chemo weekly or tri-weekly for the rest of my life — has not yet happened.
I have another chance.
You’d better believe I’m going to take it.