Today was results day. I’m not sure what we were expecting really but it didn’t go to plan. Not my plan, anyway.
First, we realised after a half hour wait that the secretary had booked us in to see the wrong consultant. He was running late, too, but that’s beside the point. We were booked in to see the surgical consultant, not the oncologist. I’m not even sure it it was a mistake or not, if it’s normal to see the surgeon after a PET-CT or after finishing chemo. Or maybe it was the results of that that swung it and under normal circumstances he’d have made a decision and then be onto the next step. But anyway. The results were that my iliac node is still active, but has shrunk. As opposed to the original tumour which is still active, but has grown. I don’t know by how much. And he wasn’t answering questions. Not about sizes, not about what might happen next, about what that meant. Because, he said, it’s all academic until I find out whether the second opinion doctor in Birmingham will do the exenteration or not.
I won’t find out about the exenteration until next week – maybe the week after, and it’s killing me. Literally. Who the heck knows what can happen in two weeks? I’m too tired for this right now. I’m crying a lot these days. And I’m shouting at the people I’m closest to because they keep asking questions they know I don’t have the answers to. I hate this. It’s worse than the worst dream I could make up.
I hate all the waiting.
I hate the lack of control.
I hate Cancer.