Posted January 11, 2024
Our decision to get a hotel room in Rochester the night before an early day of scans and appointments at Mayo was brilliant. I rolled out of bed at 7:15, and was at my CT scan appointment at 7:25. It was great to have the room to go back to between appointments. I made one error: turns out someone about to get a battery of blood tests, including glucose, maybe shouldn’t have pancakes with fake maple syrup for breakfast. Those results don’t fairly represent the efforts of the chef who is preparing our uber healthy food every week.
The last appointment of the day was with my Mayo oncologist, Dr. Lionel. This is the first visit since I started the immunotherapy treatments. I’ve now had three cycles of infusions. There was good news, and there was “Oh.” news.
The good news is that there are no new lesions (are they called lesions in this application? Tumors? Spots? Shouldn’t I know this?). The “Oh.” news is that the old lesions have grown. Dr. Lionel had prepared us for this at the last visit; it can take a bit of time to turn the tide, so this increased growth of the spots in my peritoneum (abdominal lining) at this stage is not at all uncommon.
My lungs have always had assorted nodules that are probably nothing that we just monitor. One in particular seems to change in size; got bigger when I had Covid, then seemed to get smaller. Now it’s bigger again, and Dr. Lionel is concerned that it might be part of the original liver cancer spread, and has scheduled a biopsy. “Oh.” (Cue the almost imperceptible but ever-constant shrieking.) It wouldn’t be great if the cancer is more widespread than originally thought.
Biopsy February 2 at Mayo. Just a needle biopsy, outpatient. I’m very familiar with those. Hell, I could probably do it myself at this point if someone loaned me an ultrasound and gave me a long needle. I am already working on my performance that will ensure a bump of fentanyl and maybe Versed. They say that “most people” do fine without sedation, but I’ve learned that if I express discomfort at the earliest (try to be reasonable) point in the procedure, they’ll turn it on. Maybe I should be concerned about my level of excitement about getting medically supervised fentanyl, but on the other hand, the anticipation quiets the shrieking for a bit.
I’ve completed the scheduling puzzle for the next three months. Now to update calendars and make complimentary hotel and pet management arrangements as needed. I don’t like scheduling, but I like having a plan. Meanwhile, I continue to feel absolutely fine. This is all so strange.