Scan Update

Well, it is over. I  made it through another scan. 

To recap: Three months ago I learned that a lymph node toward the front of my chest had enlarged to 1.9 cm--that is huge! Those guys are usually not even a centimeter in size  Also, there is some thickening of the pleura of my right lung that the radiologist deemed potentially metastatic spread. 

As I usually do, my brain went through the different scenarios preparing for what could be the worst or even the best results of this scan. I would think about what my oncologist would say. Would she begin with: how are you feeling--an indication the news was not good. Or, would she jump right in with the only information that mattered--an excellent start for what will most certainly be great news. Then I would play my mind's movie, what I would say and how I would say it. In the past, I have had some kind of plan. A plan I could throw at her hoping she catches it in order for me to stay on my current treatment. Luckily, in the past, she has caught it, agreed to it, and the plan worked. But, my research and the knowledge that I have already had so much radiation to my chest made me painfully aware this time I had no plan. My sense of control--so needed by all of us--was gone.

The knock came, my oncologist entered. She seemed at ease, a good sign. She sat down and began talking. "Well, your scans look good". 

I say, "What?" 

She looked at me like: what do you mean, what? 

That followed with the best conversation. A conversation I was so sure I was not going to have. 

She let me know that the lymph node had decreased. Could have been some kind of infection causing the increase but really all that mattered was its size. It wasn't super small, yet, but it was down from 1.9 to 1.5 cm. As for the pleural thickening, it was stable. She didn't seem that concerned about the thickening having not mentioned it to me two months ago. I learned of it by reading the radiologist's comments on my report. 

We moved away from the scan report as our conversation continued. I asked her whether I should get the COVID vaccine. She said, "Yes", without hesitation. 

My next scan was set and will be at the end of May just before school lets out for the summer. And, I get to continue my treatments with Kadcyla. The burden was lifted. and I smiled all the way to the infusion room. 

Thinking of spring and all of life's possibilities as I continue to find my way in the world after leaving my husband made for a tremendously happy ride home. If Kadcyla can continue doing the incredible task of keeping those little cancer cells in check, maybe I will be watching my youngest graduate from college in 2025. Hope is still winning!

Catching Up

On a trip to Chicago, Illinois this past June to see one of my daughters, I noticed my physical fitness has declined more significantly than I thought. While there, my daughter, her boyfriend, and I were sprinting to catch a train. Up the stairs they flew. Up the stairs I . . . struggled. No Chicago wind blew behind me, encouraging me, offering to help push me up those flights of stairs. The only movement of air was of my own making through the rapid exhaling and inhaling of my breathing that was not giving me an adequate supply of oxygen forcing me to slow down. My muscular legs from long ago were not there to move me quickly to my destination. My eyes watching the young, fit bodies of my hosts run ahead of me left me feeling quite alone wondering: Should I yell for them to wait? Do they realize I am not right behind them any longer? 

I worried I would have to stop; worried I couldn’t catch up; worried we would miss the train because of me.

My brain pushed my legs to move, leaping over steps when I could, worrying all the while my heart would be my downfall, giving out, causing my body to meet the ground.

It didn’t. But the interaction between my brain and body had me saying to myself, Good grief, I am  . . . (inhale) . . . out of shape!

It wasn’t pretty.

When I returned home, I joined a fitness center. Never in my life have I been a member of a gym, but this one was reasonably priced for my budget, and the membership fee is due on a month-to-month basis; I can cancel at any time. If my daughter hadn’t taken a Health and Physical Education Class required by her high school this summer, I probably would have continued my sometimes daily walks around and around my front yard like I always have. Walking is exercise, and I have done it for a long time, but after feeling breathless sprinting for the train, I knew something had to change. I needed to add more difficulty to my already existing—hardly called exercising at all—routine in order to strengthen my heart, lungs, and muscles that are sadly not what they used to be. Exercising at a gym with my daughter was the change I needed.

My progress is slow—I don’t want to overdo it fearing I will injure myself. And, feeling tired on most days brings with it a lack of motivation leaving me wondering: Am I supposed to feel this tired? Is it age related, treatment related, or both?  It is probably both. Once I get moving, though, I do feel a great satisfaction after working my tired body. It feels good to watch my muscles work while I lift weights; it feels good to feel my heart rate increase with the steps I take on the treadmill. It even feels good when the machine rewards me with its squares of bright orange after I reach my targeted heart rate.  Having my daughter as my work-out partner has proved to make this a fun endeavor and forces me to get moving.

Month number two of exercising is about to begin. I realize I won’t ever be the Lisa from years ago with the red face, heart beating wildly, lungs expanding grabbing all that oxygen and feeling wonderful while not worrying about dropping dead at any moment. Exercise won’t stop my cancer from doing what it is going to do, but it does give me hope that if my next Chicago foot tour finds me sprinting for a train that is about to leave the station, I will be smiling because it feels good to run, and it feels good not to worry that I am falling behind the sprinters, or that I am pushing my heart too hard. I am hoping I can close the gap between us, but if I can’t, I know I will catch up. Just give me a few extra seconds.