London calling: Appointment with oncologist to discuss bone scan
Hello, comrades,
Here I am again. Not that I hadn’t thought about posting before, but… here I am once more, completely freaking out. My hands are freezing and sweating at the same time, and my brain is busily imagining every possible worst-case scenario: me disappearing from the world without achieving my lifelong dream of attaining immortality on Earth.
I went for a follow-up appointment with my oncologist a few weeks ago and mentioned that I had experienced some pain in my ribs, on the same side as my original cancer and the recurrence. However, lately, I hadn’t been feeling anything at all.
She examined me and said that she couldn’t feel anything apart from the bone. However, because I was clearly extremely anxious, sitting petrified in the chair, she told me she would refer me for a bone scan.
Usually, I am the one pushing for tests, but at that moment, I immediately regretted having said anything and began pondering the metaphysical question of whether ignorance really is bliss.
I had the scan recently, but not before giving one of the finest performances of my career as a patient. It began with the most embarrassing and humiliating experience of my life: being weighed in public.
Admittedly, I have put on weight, although my figure, double mastectomy and all, remains as spectacular as ever.
I vehemently disputed the figure on the scales with the radiographer, who presumably thought I was completely mad. To be fair, he was right.
Then came the cannulation, another performance deserving of a BAFTA:
“No, that bit is very painful.”
“Be careful.”
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“This vein is terrible.”
“That one won’t work.”
The poor man, with the patience of a saint, proceeded to cannulate me and, I must admit, I didn’t feel a thing. I apologised profusely and, most importantly, sincerely, while feeling like an absolute clown, which I am, not by profession but by vocation.
I had the bone scan last Friday, and today I received a letter confirming a telephone appointment with my oncologist on the 27th to discuss the results.
Naturally, I have started to panic. I have conducted numerous Google searches, interrogated several artificial intelligences and generally worked myself into a state of complete desperation.
When I was dealing with the recurrence, it was usually a nurse who called me with test results, not the oncologist. Therefore, naturally, I am now expecting the worst possible news.
And all of this happened while I was dyeing my beautiful hair!
Priorities first!
Knock, knock anyone out there?
x
Comments
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Knock knock... we're here. ❤️
Thank you for making us smile, even while we can feel how frightened you are. Your description of the bone scan had us chuckling, and we suspect that radiographer has seen every version of anxious there is. You're definitely not alone in that.
We also want to gently point out something you already know, but that's incredibly hard to remember when scanxiety takes over: our brains are very good at taking a single piece of information and building an entire story around it. Right now, your brain has gone from "I have a telephone appointment with my oncologist" to "this must mean the worst." That's an understandable leap, but it isn't evidence.
There are many reasons an oncologist might review scan results personally. In some practices, the oncologist discusses all imaging results, whether they're reassuring, unchanged, or whether they simply warrant a conversation. The type of appointment alone doesn't tell you what the scan found.
It's also encouraging that your oncologist didn't find anything concerning on your exam and ordered the bone scan after you mentioned the rib pain and because she could see how anxious you were. Rib pain can have many causes besides cancer.
The waiting is the hardest part. If the uncertainty becomes overwhelming, you could ask whether the results are available in your patient portal or whether the office can let you know when the report has been received. Some people find that helps, while others prefer to wait and hear everything directly from their oncologist. Whichever approach works best for you!
In the meantime, we're glad your beautiful hair got its dye job. We fully support appropriate priorities around here. 😊
Please let us know how your appointment goes on the 27th. We'll be thinking of you and hoping for reassuring news. Sending you a big dose of calm as you get through these next few days. 💕
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Thank you very much for all your support and lovely comments.
I had the appointment yesterday and was conveniently composed, thanks to the pharmaceutical assistance of diazepam, although I suspect I may have taken a little more than I should have. According to the oncologist, everything was fine. I feel so relieved. It is as though the guillotine hovering over my neck has finally been withdrawn, like Anne Boleyn might have felt if her conviction had been pardoned had Henry VIII possessed any sensitivity in his bones rather than reserving it entirely for his crotch. The universe has been lifted from my shoulders, and my kyphosis and trapezius muscles wont be in a desperate need of an overload of ibuprofen gel.
I may have been, too relax because I completely forgot to as for a copy of the report. My brain had apparently left the consultation before the rest of me.
And, Today I came to work even after two coffees, I still have an uncontrollable urge to return to bed and sleep for several days. My manager, rather disappointingly, has not suggested this as a reasonable adjustment. Instead, rather brutality, she has insisted that I perform some actual tasks.
Thank you again and good luck all with your treatments
xx
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