I love rollercoasters, but those are off-limits now that I have a hole in my brain. Yet I rode a big one today at my doctor's office, and it wasn't nearly as fun as the Mr. Freeze ride at Six Flags.
Today was MRI day; my second perfusion study since January's questionable results. I enjoyed two years of consistently good MRI results, but I have had a constant drumroll going for the past four months.
After a long wait my doctor came in to discuss concerns that remained yet unresolved. One area looked enhanced, and a different area had high perfusion, according to the report. She considered just putting me back on some chemotherapy, and then decided instead to do a PET scan in two weeks. She would bring everything before "the tumor board" and do a review. She started talking about the possibility of surgery, because the area of concern was most definitely operable. I still felt calmed and comforted by my own faith and that of many others, but it was nonetheless overwhelming and difficult to contemplate. PET scan. More surgery. More chemotherapy. More drumroll.
Soon afterward I was with the office staff, trying to schedule the PET scan and listening to the chaos involved with that process. I went into swan mode, looking nice and graceful above the surface while kicking madly beneath the surface.
As I was getting ready to leave, my doctor emerged from her office after speaking directly with the radiologist on the phone. Some information was clarified, and now there was a solid verdict: "negative/low perfusion, consistent with treatment effect." (Translation: What we're seeing is probably radiation damage, not tumor.) Cancel PET scan. Come back in three months for my next MRI. We'll do a perfusion study again, but things look okay for now.
I'm allowed to get off the rollercoaster for a while!