Oh hey, it's... still my friendly little port

This was meant to be a triumphant “my port is out!” announcement, replete with the requisite surgical-hat-and-double-thumbs-up picture.

Instead, it is apparently just one more humbling reminder that cancer recovery is not a linear process.

My CEA looked good: the lowest ever. My PET scan was clear. Waiting for the MRI seemed like a formality when we were called back to my oncologist’s office.

Then, results suddenly in the portal: “New segment 6 liver subcentimeter lesion, suspicious for a metastasis.”

Hearts immediately dropping; I don’t think it is an understatement to say we were stunned.

Really?

A closer look at the report specified that the word “suspicious” equated to a 75% chance of this being a met. (So, you’re saying there’s a chance!?) But when Dr. Connell came into the room, she told us it did indeed look like a recurrence to her. She was as surprised and disappointed as we were.

The good news, she tells us, is that we caught it early. I won’t need chemo; we can probably ablate it.

The frustrating news is that it is too small to be addressed immediately: she warns us that Dr. Sofocleous may want to wait a month or two, until it is bigger, to take action.

By the following day, I see in the portal that they have scheduled me for two additional scans, in two weeks’ time. This aggressive scheduling is absolutely on brand for my team. A note confirms that the plan is for ablation; I should hear more from the doctor soon.

In the meantime, I’m trying to make sense of the disconnect between what has happened and the confidence in my intuition: that I was done, broadly; and that this scan wouldn’t reveal a recurrence, specifically. And also, that my port would not in fact come out this week.

Weirdly, this certainty, voiced at therapy last week, is likely what drove how unsettled I felt about everything this week.

It’s been harder for me to face the fallibility of my intuition than the possibility of a recurrence itself. Doubling down on my intuition requires accepting the chance it will be wrong.

Since Thursday night, I’ve spent hours looking at years of data, trying to get my head around a recurrence, asking if I missed the signs. To date, my CEA has been a reliable leading indicator: beginning to rise months ahead of anything showing on a scan. This pattern has held for four recurrences to date. It doesn’t make sense to me that my CEA yesterday was the lowest it’s ever been.

And there are other blood test results that support the idea that what the scan picked up is something else.

So could I be experiencing a recurrence? Maybe. Maybe even probably. But I guess I’m not convinced yet, and I don’t have to be. No matter what I decide to think this is or isn’t, the next few weeks (and possibly longer) will be defined by uncertainty.

And interestingly, it’s not lost on me how immediately I went to a single point of certainty in wake of the uncertain news:

I caught myself thinking the very same thing I’ve told countless employers they can ensure their impacted employees think in that moment: at least I don’t have to worry about my job.

This would all be a lot scarier if it wasn’t for Working with Cancer. So, I’m feeling even more grateful for my team and my company than usual.

Thanks to all of you for having my back…again.