The Amazing Bob and I spent the day at MGH yesterday. We saw his brill cancer medic (Doctor Abramson) and got the results of the latest CAT scan. There’s a spot on his pancreas. The good doc says it may be nothing but we’re scheduled for another scan in two months time. If there’s no growth, great, boom, done. They just want to keep an eye on things. If the spot's any bigger though, it’ll be biopsy time in the old town again.
This was, of course, not the news we’d hoped for. We wanted to hear: Your scan was clean as a sparkling new baby’s! Go, get outta here—we’ll see you next year for an annual check up.
Nope. No such luck.
Later, while we were in the infusion department with the bag of booster serum dripping into his system, TAB, utterly deflated, sighed “Every time I think we’re done, in the clear, they drag us back in.”
BUT this may well be nothing. I suggested that we hold off on panic, the rending of garments and gnashing of teeth until we’re certain of the score. Good plan, HARD to do. Also…SHUT UP, I sez to meself, I’m busy freaking out here! Yes, I spoke those words, that recommendation for me too.
Jen, who’s gone through this shit already, commiserated—yes, it’s a big time, awful roller coaster ride.
So then, what I’m puzzling over now is this—how do I keep our spirits up and strong over these next two months while we wait, wait, wait for the next CAT scan? CAKE is lovely and helpful but that alone won’t do the job.