I wake after a fitful night of troubled dreams. I can’t remember any details but I was being chased or followed and felt threatened and anxious. Waking up does nothing to ease the anxiety as it’s Oncology day again. Susannah always manages to tackle Oncology appointments with a positive attitude, but I’m consumed by fear. Oncology is the harbinger of bad news or so it seems. 

Today, Dr Sk is away so we will be meeting with Dr Na. Maybe this time will be different.

It’s not. 

We meet with Dr Na and give her a brief update. She examines Betty, refers to Dr Sk’s notes, and asks a few questions. She decides I should do today’s Paclitaxel treatment as it’s already scheduled right after this meeting but that going forward we should switch to Dose Dense AC fortnightly. This is what Dr Sk had also proposed if Betty had shown no sign of at least softening since our last meeting. The Bitch has not softened, in fact I can now feel an additional large lump in my armpit. Susannah and I both agree to the change as it’s what we had asked for last time.

Dr Na briefly goes over the differences between Paclitaxel and AC and the fantastic and fun new side effects I may experience, and I talk about my fear that the cancer may have spread during the last 6 weeks of ineffectual treatment. Dr Na responds with words that really throw me. She suggests having another CT scan to see if the horse has already bolted. What she means by this is to check if the cancer has spread but her choice of phrase is, I think, completely inappropriate and very alarming. She then talks about my condition potentially progressing to stage 4 and treatment becoming palliative, not curative. My eyes well up and I have a hard time keeping it together. Eventually I ask how this would affect treatment for FrankenBetty, who seems now about as big as she could get without popping out of my skin. Oh, we could lop it right off if we have to, Dr Na says, referring to my breast. This gives me no comfort at all and I start to wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Susannah is equally as appalled.

As we are starting a new treatment I am weighed before we leave and I check in at 58kg fully clothed. Only a couple of kg down since starting chemo so not too bad, although probably the lightest I’ve ever been. I feel thin so will try hard to maintain if not gain weight if I can.

We leave Oncology and head straight to chemo. I feel like crawling into my shell but do my best to be pleasant and upbeat. Susannah struggles and has to keep stepping outside to pull herself together. The only positive to come from today’s treatment is that Susannah is so distracted that I beat her at chess. When I shout triumphantly the whole room applauds. It is most definitely the highlight of a shitty day so far and I’ll take the win.

After chemo we have a bit of time to kill before Susannah has to go back to the Breast Clinic for her second Ultrasound. This time it’s for the other breast but just like last time they can find nothing abnormal. This is fantastic news and we can finally draw a line under that health question. 

The remainder of the day we hang out at home and talk through the events of the day. I feel completely disheartened and don’t really know what to do. I wonder if I have been assertive enough in the Oncology appointments. I think I have expressed my thoughts well, but should I have been more demanding? On reflection I don’t think so. In some ways I got the outcome I wanted – to change course in chemo and move to AC treatment early, but the thought of having another CT scan right away petrifies me. I feel like I will be living the original scan and wait process all over again. It was hard enough the first time. I’m not sure if I can repeat it.

In bed I can no longer keep it together. I cry hysterically and Susannah holds me close. I am inconsolable. I don’t want to have another CT scan. Not yet. I just don’t want to know.  The thought of what could happen terrifies me.

I am most definitely suffering from what cancer patients describe as scanxiety.