The efforts I fought for months ago have had a ripple effect with a double-edged sword. One edge inflicts deep wounds, while the other cuts out a small opening, a peephole through which I can glimpse a shimmer of gold amid the ashes. Six months ago, the PET scan results hurled me into the ‘metastatic’ category as my liver illuminated with suspicious activity. The impact of this news swiftly plunged me into denial. I sought to reinforce it with my own rationale, other than metastasis, for why there might be areas of increased sugar uptake in the fastest-regenerating organ of my body.
Since cells involved in healing processes also consume more glucose and thus appear brighter in a PET scan, I converted my shock into a more digestible explanation. To gain further insight into my liver’s condition, I requested an MRI, known for its detailed imaging of soft tissue. However, my requests were repeatedly denied on the grounds that the evidence of metastasis in the PET scan was deemed sufficient.
At the time, I wasn’t prepared to accept a treatment plan based on mere assumptions. I fought tooth and nail until my local MD relented under my plea for an MRI. I’m immensely grateful that my care providers have flexible boundaries that stretches open when I advocate strongly for myself. Finally, after all these months, I underwent the MRI a couple of weeks ago.
When the results appeared in my inbox, I leaned on the pillar of strength from my morning prayers. Despite the adversities and hardships that comes with the walk that I am walking, I’m most grateful for the enduring strength of Spirit that holds me up when I’m shaking. I was hoping that whatever was there in my liver would be gone after three months of being on treatment. The new hair growth, return of my appetite, and increased stamina seemed promising signs of healing. Nevertheless, the results revealed at least four nodules in my liver, and this time, I didn’t push it aside into denial or search for alternative explanations. I allowed the truth of what is slam right into me.
I surrendered to the cathartic waves of emotions that surged violently within me, crashing with relentless force. I felt it all without trying to cling, and in that surrender, their progression seemed to hasten. As the initial intensity of this reality settled, I willed my mind to soar high above and gain a broader, panoramic perspective of the situation. This isn’t new information; it’s confirmation of previous findings indicating mutant activity in my liver. It’s clarity that must be accepted—a crucial baseline for the path ahead.
Resisting acceptance will only erect roadblocks on the path I must walk. My journey demands unwavering faith and patience—a continuous dance of fluidity and adaptability. I must navigate my current reality while remaining anchored to what cannot be touched by this disease. I must keep the light of my spirit burning, even when the room goes dark around me. It’s in this choice, available to me, that I can discover gifts in the most unpredictable places.
The gift I received came in the form of a timely call from a different oncologist than the one I usually see. Just hours after I had read the results on my computer screen, he reached out to share his interpretation of the findings—a perspective far less terrifying than my own. He explained that in cancer treatment, success isn’t solely measured by achieving remission but also by stabilization. According to him, the MRI results didn’t necessarily indicate anything new; rather, they provided additional insight into what we already suspected. He offered me a different vantage point to consider.
Perhaps these nodules are smaller than before. Maybe they’ve stabilized, given that they’re all still relatively small. It’s possible that between November and February, when I began treatment, the nodules grew significantly, and what we’re seeing now is evidence that the treatment is indeed effective. Like light passing through a prism, every situation can reveal a different picture depending on the angle from which you view it.
The persistence in pursuing an MRI screening brought yet another gift. With a clearer baseline established, I now have the opportunity for regular MRI tests in the coming months to monitor my liver. Unlike x-rays, CT scans, and PET scans, MRI imaging doesn’t emit radiation and is non-invasive—a fact worth celebrating. When it comes to monitoring treatment, it’s crucial to compare apples to apples, so to speak, as each screening modality offers unique information.
After three months on treatment, the true gauge of its effectiveness lies in comparing PET scan results. Last week, I embarked on a solo journey, driving hours to undergo another PET scan. As I await the results in the coming week, I remain buoyant on my raft of certainties. I’m grateful for the vitality that was absent just a couple of months ago, for the nurturing love of my friends and family, and for the immeasurable power of Spirit that continues to light my way. Everything else is not evident in now.
LESSON: Life is 10% what happens to us and 90% how we react to it. – Charles R. Swindoll
LESSONS FROM MY LUMP 