Before I even got the PET scan results, I felt as if I knew what they would be: No change. I still have a spot that lights up.

That’s pretty much all I know. It’s not any bigger, but it doesn’t seem to be any smaller.

The best-case scenario is that it’s not still cancer, and that if it’s not cancer, it’s nothing serious.

I’m meeting with my doctor on Monday to discuss options. When I spoke to him a few visits ago, he seemed to think that if the scan showed that the spot was the same size, we would wait and keep an eye on it.

Even if the scan had showed nothing, I’d still be suspicious that the cancer was waiting to sneak back up on me. Yet though this was expected, I’m a little sad. Mostly, I don’t know how to feel, because I don’t know what this PET scan means.

More conclusively, a CT scan showed that the blood clot in my lung is gone. That’s a good thing, because they had to use a big needle for that test, and since I’m out of veins, the nurse said it would hurt. It did. And then they had to put in a bigger gauge. That hurt too. Also, they did the injection slower so it would hurt me less, but it still felt like my arm was being crushed from the inside. It wasn’t horrible, just unpleasant and weird. I felt like my bloody bandage made me look tough on the train, though.

Uncharacteristically, I don’t have much to say at all. I kind of don’t want to talk about the results, because I’m not even going to venture a guess at what they mean.

Also, I’m supposed to be writing about Greece right now, and I’m behind on my deadlines and work.

So for now, I’m just going to keep putting one foot in front of the other to see what’s going to happen next. If I don’t answer emails or inquiries, don’t worry. As always, I’m just scrambling to do as much as possible in this interim of relative wellness.

In my mind, the spot on the scan is shaped like a question mark. I wish it were like a game of Operation where someone could go in and remove it.


  1. Nicky says:

    I hug you. That is all.

  2. Mary Frederich says:

    Love you, Josie. Try to stay strong. So many people are cheering you on. If any of us can do anything for you, you know we’re here. What a shitty outcome.

  3. Lewis says:

    Hey Josie,

    We saw you today when they called your name. We were sitting in the back corner and was going to say hi but you guys went in thru the other door.

    My results weren’t good. The battle continues…

    How are you doing?

    • apainintheneck says:

      I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet you in person! Do they have an idea of what’s still lighting up? My doc just wants to wait and see if it gets any bigger before they do anything more. So I have six months of normalcy to look forward to before my next scan. I feel as if I should be happier, but I think I’m still numb–and a little uncertain about the spot. When will you know more?

      • Lewis says:

        Biopsy confirmed Hodgkins Lymphoma….grrrr. Going to see Mosko next week about plan. I might have to do an allo transplant. I was getting use to this non-constipation thing.

        • apainintheneck says:

          Lewis, I’m so sorry to hear that! How soon would you have the allo? Have they already done radiation? Dr. M is saying it’s good news for me for now, so I have 3 to 6 months’ break from this, at least for now. I still am wary of letting myself get used to “normal” in case it’s taken away, and the brief tastes of being back are both good and bad. There aren’t any words to convey how much that sucks, but stay strong!

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