Ringing the Bell

I'm starting to emerge from this round's post-chemo weakness and malaise. It's a great relief to think that I won't have to have any more of these poisons—at least not anytime soon. 

Backing up to the actual chemo day, my blood counts were pretty good and my doctor was again very happy with me. In fact, he said that he is so confident of my progress that he will not believe any apparent bad news from my upcoming PET scan. It turns out there is something called "pseudoprogression," which is caused by the immune system attacking the tumors under the influence of the immunotherapy and causing them to swell temporarily. If there is any apparent progression of the tumors on the scan, he's pretty sure it will just be pseudoprogression and not real progression. Doing a PET scan, which shows tumor activity, rather than a CAT scan, which is more accurate for size and position, helps to clarify the situation but is not foolproof. If there is doubt, I'll get another scan six weeks later.

It was extremely heartening to have my oncologist be so positive. He even said I could Ring the Bell.

At the infusion center there is a ship's bell that hangs near the exit. Patients are encouraged to ring the bell when they meet a major milestone in their treatment. When the bell rings, everyone in the infusion center—nurses, techs, and other patients—clap for the victorious patient. 

I rang the bell. 

I rang the Bell

It was an intensely emotional moment. No more chemo: what a relief! Good response to the chemo: cause for hope! The emotions were not unmixed, however. No more chemo does not mean no more cancer. For over two months I have been living in the chemo moment, just trying to get through this treatment. Getting past it means that I am more aware of what comes next, which includes—probably—a terrible decision to make about surgery (more on that another time) as well as the shadow of this cancer hanging over me for the rest of my life.

I'll continue to keep you posted on the journey.

My chemo cheering squad