The Results

We drove through several inches of snow to the Cancer Centre in Belfast and sat in the waiting room. We stared at the electronic board which tells you which room you have to go to for your appointment, then out of the window at the blizzard. T was wearing her wellies, it looked to be a sound choice. Suddenly my appointment was announced. We walked rather agitatedly to the designated room to find a new doctor. We sat down side by side and held hands. She introduced herself as the new Registrar and went straight to the bottom line. My CT scan showed no evidence of recurrence. I squeezed T’s hand and we both breathed a huge sigh of relief.

This turned out to be the most thorough review I’d yet had. The new Registrar was talented and extremely capable. We were with her for about half an hour. It marked quite a change from the Consultant, who often dealt with me in five minutes. The new Registrar was younger, on the way up in her career and not yet burnt out by the demands of the job. I’m very glad of this because we learned a great deal and were told some important information that I’d never been given before.

First we talked about my history: a primary cancer in 2011, with a metatastic recurrence that was found four years later. The initial surgical removal of the new tumour did not have a clear margin, so it regrew at the same site within six months. A second surgical procedure removed the tumour, but with a very fine margin of just 1mm. I’d had four clear scans over a period of 16 months since then. Each time I’d been worried about the tumour regrowing at the same site. So was it now unlikely that the tumour would regrow there? This was my biggest fear and I was hoping for some reassurance.

She told me that my cancer, Renal Cell Carcinoma, was different in its behaviour to many other types of cancer. She said that time was not a key factor for this cancer, as it had been known to recur up to 20 years after the primary. My heart sank. She went on. I was still designated ‘high risk’ and would be regularly checked by CT scans for years to come. My next scan would be in four months. Over time they would balance the risk of the interval of the scan with the accumulated radiation I would be exposed to. I thought to myself, as I’ve already had loads of CT scans since my initial diagnosis (more than 15), plus a series of MRI’s and PET scans, not to mention all of the X Rays, I was probably glowing in the dark already.

She also told me that I ought to be examining myself regularly for lumps. I was shocked; no-one had told me this before. She said the neck, armpits and groin were the most likely sites. She also said that as I’d had a bowel resection I should also be particularly vigilant regarding changes in my digestion and the nature of my stools. She gave me the card of a nurse specialist in the Cancer Centre to whom I should report any problems. And if necessary I would be brought in early for my next scan. Again this was important new information and marked a pro-active approach that was reassuring and most welcome. The card said that the specialist nurse was designated by the Friends of the Cancer Centre (a local charity) so perhaps this post didn’t exist previously.

Finally, we spoke about my recent surgery to repair my diaphragm. I explained that my recovery had been going steadily until a month ago when I had twisted back awkwardly and pulled muscles in my left side. Since then the left side of my ribs adjacent to the surgical scar had been very sore and I was worried that I might have damaged the repair. She turned to her computer and looked up the pictures from my latest scan. The scan gives a series of sections though your body and you can move finely between each section of the image with the wheel of the mouse. She examined the scan closely, pointing out features of my anatomy to us. Eventually she turned to me and said she could see no evidence of a tear in the repair. I breathed another sigh of relief.

We thanked her for her considerable help and set off for home. The blizzard was still going and lots of new snow had fallen. The motorway south was crawling along and the road into the Bronte Country was treacherous. I drove as carefully as I could but the car skidded twice on the way back. We were delighted to actually get home that evening. We closed the door and sat down, thoroughly exhausted.