I was told by my neurosurgeon in my “pre-biopsy” appointment last Thursday that my recent PET scans and MRIs show that there are no tumors in my organs, lymph, or spine. That is truly awesome news. Thing is, I never suspected that there was any metastasis, so instead of feeling relieved, I was like, “well, DUH.”
The result of this fantastic news is a total game-plan-change, which took me so much by surprise that I felt like someone kicked me in the gut and pushed me down one of those really steep water slides. I guess I don’t handle change well. Or dealing with the unknown.
I was mostly on board with the whole poke-Bob-with-a-needle and find out what he’s really made of plan. I was mentally prepared to review the details and risks of the procedure, then go for it, as I was told three weeks ago that it would be scheduled this week. Then, presto-plan-change occurred in front of my eyes (envision the magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, but instead of a hat, it’s your gut and instead of a rabbit, it’s your lunch).
Took some deep breaths, slept three hours when we got home from that appointment, spoke to many a friend and my mom, and finally came to the conclusion that instead of freaking out that THE PLAN changed… I can embrace the fact that no one is drilling into my skull this coming week (which, as he detailed the risks involved, frankly became much less appealing). That’s the good news, yippee. Surreal that THIS is now what is considered good news in my world.
So, countdown to 5 ½ more weeks until the next brain MRI (which will be a total of three months since the first peek). If Bob is behaving and not trying to take over the rest of my brain, he gets to chill up in there; if he is reproducing baby stars in his galaxy (i.e. growing) then, back to plan A, biopsy the bastard.
And so on… no growth, wait 3 months, MRI, rinse, repeat.
Soooo, more will be revealed… or not.