I've been monitored with regular check ups and CTs and in July, some minimal fluid showed up on the scan and it was still there in October but everything else pointed to good things and my medical team agreed to keep monitoring with regular CTs and check ups. My appointment at Noga was completely routine, scheduled back in May. When it came to doing the ultrasound of my abdomen, it became clear that there was more fluid and possibly a mass. That was the day before my birthday. Terrified but still optimistic, we scheduled a biopsy. In short, they use a giant needle, about a foot long... there was no pain medication or numbing - none. That test, which drained close to a half liter of fluid from my pelvis, was probably the most traumatic moment of my life! ...And then you wait. One day and another day. It was Chanukkah so we did Chanukkah things. We did crafts, we baked, we lit candles, we unwrapped gifts, we went to the beach, and we had fun with family. We had Thanksgiving with dear friends. We celebrated my parents' 42nd wedding anniversary, my dad's birthday, my brother's birthday, my birthday and David and my 13th wedding anniversary. It was a wonderful holiday despite the anxiety and anticipation.
Finally, the day arrived. That's today. Finally, I know and I can relax... sort of. The waiting is one of the worst parts. I have a horrendous game of ping pong in my head. I'm fine. I'm not fine. I'm fine. I'm not fine. Waking up in the middle of the night with a heart pumping out of my chest, sweat drenched, and panicking. My beloved husband and I grabbing onto those final moments before finally getting news. I love my oncologist, Professor Cherny. He's more than a top physician and practitioner on the cutting edge; he's a man with a heart of gold who cares and makes me feel like I'm his #1 patient. Prof. Cherny is the one who held onto my hand after telling me that the biopsy came back positive for active cancer and looked into my blurry eyes and reassured me that there's still more treatment and I believe him. I believe I'm getting the best possible care and I just have to hang onto the hope that I can still be cured. I'm fine. I'm not fine. I'm fine. I'm not fine. I still have cancer. I'm not cured and I'm not fine with that. I have cancer. This is my life.
That's all we know. I need more treatment. More chemo. My medical team will come up with the best possible protocol. For now we wait.