Setbacks or Setups or Maybe Just Salt

I went in for my third PET CT on Wednesday. It's taken me until today to be somewhat okay writing about it. That should tell you pretty much all you need to know about what the scan told us.

Here's the thing. For most people, there wouldn't be anything to fret about at this point. If it weren't for the fact that I have a brother who's a radiologist, I'd still be waiting to get results. Granted, there's some stress around that kind of waiting, too, but I wouldn't know anything yet.

So, I guess what I'm saying is, take my complaints with a whole cellar's worth of salt.

I don't know about you, but this is not what I envisioned the first time I
heard someone say "salt cellar." So. Much. Disappointment.

The last scan (numero dos--that's Spanish for "number two") was pretty fantastic. As far as we could tell, it looked like all of the cancer except for the mass in my kidney was shrinking. There were three nodules under my arm that still showed up as pretty metabolically active, but considering that in the first scan, that whole area had been white-hot, there was no real reason to think that was anything unusual.

Wait. Third PET scan. Three nodules. What
does it all mean???

Well, this time, those three nodules didn't shrink. In fact, they went and got bigger.

Dammit, Todd!

Srsly, dude. All you had to do was die. Was that so much to ask of you?

The honest, (read, non-dramatic) truth is that this last scan was a mixed bag. Good and bad, intertwined in an intricate dance. I don't know if it's human nature, or just my nature, to focus on the bad, but it's definitely something I tend to do--at least in the dark recesses of my mental landscape. To the public, it's all smiles and I'll-be-fine's, unless you're someone I really trust to be okay with the truth. So, if you hear me get dark, know that it's because I think you're pretty swell.

The good? Other than the armpit area, I'm doing great. The mass on my spine, which was like 8 or 9 centimeters big, is gone. No detectable metabolic activity happening. That's a pretty big deal, especially when you consider it was pain coming from that tumor that finally got me to go in for an MRI. Eight centimeters is pretty gosh-darn big for a cancerous tumor. Or so I've been told.

Ooookay, maybe not.

Before I go any farther, I should probably say that most (if not all) of my disappointment-slash-discouragement-slash-frustration comes from the fact that I have gone through four effing treatments since my last scan, and at least some of my cancer had the temerity to GET BIGGER. It was less a moment of existential angst for me, and more of a specific eff you to those little nodules under my arm.

Well, not so little anymore, dammit.

Anyhoo. Here's one of the possible concerns. Those resistant tumors could be an indicator that my renal cancer has gone rogue and metastasized. If that's the case, my odds of survival tank pretty badly. I'm not sure how they would stage it, if it were to turn out that they are renal, but stage 4 renal cancer has about an 8% survival rate.

Yikes.

I don't think it's renal cancer. I think it's a spot of resistant Hodgkin's. This thought process of mine is not based on anything scientific, but that's what I'm thinking anyway.

But even if it is renal cell carcinoma, I'm not worried. Yes, I fully acknowledge that is a bit psychotic. It makes no sense for me to feel this way. However, that's how I've felt from the beginning of this whole journey.

I'm going to be okay.

It totally possible that this persistent thought is a manifestation of my narcissism. That my brain just can't fathom the end of my existence here on this planet. But I choose to believe that this is exactly how things are going to shake out. Regardless of how hopeless everything may seem from the outside, here on the inside, I'm moving forward with this rock solid belief that I will survive.

Is the fact that this song popped into my head due to my age or because I was once
 a wedding deejay? I choose to believe the latter. LET ME HAVE THIS ONE.

I suppose time will tell, right? Either I'll still be here, blissfully and blithely blogging along, or I won't be. And either one of those options will be informative to the three people who read this.

Speaking in a completely secular way for a moment, the power of our belief seems to run deep. Want to know one of my crazier ideas? I think the Higgs boson particle was believed into existence. Yeah, I know, I know. But to a certain extent, our beliefs (from my flawed and limited observations) appear to be able to help shape reality.

I think that on some level, my belief that I wasn't all that worthy of living led to me having two cancers. I mean, the odds are just too crazy on that one. Two cancers? At the same time?

Now. Do I think that every person with cancer has it because of some errant belief on their part? No, I don't. Small children have cancers and other horrific diseases, so that idea doesn't track for me. So my thoughts on this aren't set in stone at all.

Back to the central premise I'm putting out there. My belief that I will survive is one of the strongest survival tools at my disposal. I have access to the medicines I have access to. I can avail myself of the knowledge that is currently available. Yes, the logic is circular, but sometimes wisdom can be found in those circular searchings.

Preach, Tim. Preach.

I want it known that none of this internal certainty meant that I was totally fine when I got the news on Wednesday. I was not. I was upset. I spent much time processing. It took me a lot longer to write this post than I thought it would. I'm still quiet and contemplative (read, pissed off) as I put these ideas out into the ether.

Anger can be contemplative, can't it?

The inconsistencies of my thought process that you can quite easily track from the beginning of this post to the end are part of what it means to be human. I am a fluid being, and that's a good thing. When I get rigid, I turn into a bit of a raging @$$hole. The more flexible I allow myself to be, the kinder, more loving, more gentle I seem to become.

And it's those qualities I want to encourage in myself, regardless of exactly how long I have left here on this plane. After all, none of us really get out alive, now, do we?

That's a comforting thought, isn't it?

Oh, and here were my socks I wore for the PET scan. I got them when I saw the Indigo Girls perform with the Utah Symphony. It was AWESOME.

Closer I am to fine.

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Stay tuned for our next episode, in which the depths of the universe (and my tumor-filled kidney) are plumbed.


Next post.