Yowza!

I knew from watching Angie's face as she read my CT report last Tuesday, that I couldn't handle its contents right away. I was still reeling from the news the cancer was back.

On Friday, I sat down, took at deep breath and folded open the pages of the report. Yowza! How the heck could so much grow in my body in only three months?!

According to the report, I have significant progression of omental masses -tumours - in my omentum (the fatty layer of the abdomen). The largest measures at least 5.5 x 2.9 cm with numerous masses adjacent, forming omental cakes. Argh.

Of course, when I hear omental cake, I think oatmeal cake, which I quite like, with its soft, grainy cake and sweet coconut icing. But omental cakes are not so sweet. In fact, their existence in my body horrifies me.

The report goes on to say that I have serosal deposits (which I read as tumours) along my bowel loops, particularly in the ascending colon. Crap (no pun intended), they're all over my bowel and enveloping the cecum, which is a pouch that's about six centimetres long and 7.5 cm wide, that separates the large and small intestine.

The good news is there is still "satisfactory oral contrast opacifying these loops." I read that to mean these masses are on the surface, but haven't invaded the organs themselves. Okay, that's good.

I also have pelvic masses in my posterior cul-de-sac. I didn't even know I had a cul-de-sac! So, in the back of my pelvic cavity, I have a mass that's at least 5.3 cm and some fluid. I guess that explains my back aches.

Of course, the fluid has increased significantly since my CT scan on May 20 and I now look like I sport an inflated tire of jello around my mid section. It's pressing out, back, down and up. The extra weight also makes my legs ache. If it gets much worse, I'm going to have to wear yoga pants to work because they'll be the only thing that fits!

Of course, if it gets too bad, I could go get my abdomen drained. That involves a long needle, some freezing and a touch of courage. I'm not quite there, yet.

My CT report also says I still have a "lobulated contour" on the surface of my liver and I have subdiaphragmatic and parietal peritoneal thickening, which is more extensive on the right side. Whatever that means.

What shocks me the most is the number and size of the masses. At the end of January, there was some questionnable shadowy sections identified in my CT scan, but they hadn't really changed much from the one in October. As a result, I thought my situation was stable and these lumps and bumps were something other than cancer.

It concerns me they've grown so much in just three months. Hopefully, that means they'll also shrink quickly once we start blasting them with the toxic chemotherapy. Die cancer die!

I'm sure my face looked as horrified as my sister's as I read through the report (although I'm sure she understood a lot more than I initially did). I've gotten over the shock. I've accepted that it's terrible. While I still feel as though a parasite has taken over my body and is growing out of control despite me, I've got my mind set that I can attack and beat back this invader when I start treatment. Now we just have to start.

I meet with Dr. H on Tuesday to talk about the clinical trial. At that appointment, I'm going to eagerly ask, "so when can we start treatment?" If he said I could start that afternoon (yeah, right), I'd roll up my sleeve and gladly start chemotherapy. I'm hoping we can start later next week.

The waiting around while I know this is still growing is killing me (literally and figuratively). Let's get on with it.

Tina