After five years in remission, I thought it would be the end of my follow-ups with the remaining doctors. My radio-oncologist scheduled my last scan. I told her that since it was the last one, I wanted a PET scan. That hospital didn’t give those out freely, but she obliged. I knew that the PET was more precise and saw cancer cells as small as one centimeter.
“You’ll still have a partial CT-scan, since it renders better results for the abdomen.”
I don’t remember whether she said the abdomen or the torso, but she scheduled me for both the PET and the CT.
After I received the clean results from those tests, the follow-up with my surgeon was the only one remaining. At that point, I was not looking forward to hearing him drop me too. Then who’ll look after me?
But when the day came to meet with my surgeon, he said, “No, I will continue to follow you as long…”
He stopped speaking, but I knew he meant, “as long as you are alive.”
Maybe he didn’t think I would be around so many years after the advanced cancer – but I showed him. I feel like a walking miracle. I get the impression that he is surprised I’ve surpassed even his expectations. “It’s ten years!”
Don’t ask me what I did to get here because I haven’t the slightest idea. Besides, I’m not sure any thing I could do would change the outcome of my survival from such a grave diagnosis.