And... that's a wrap?

Got my CT scan results back today. No cancer in my lungs. There must be a better word than "phew" for that. But Dr. A. isn't happy with what she saw in in there or the fact that I've had this bloody cough for more than a month now. She thinks I may be one of the rare birds who get a particular side effect from docetaxel (one of the chemo drugs) that could affect my lungs long term. If I go ahead with round eight on Friday, the drug could do permanent damage and I could end up with lung issues now or in the future. She even wants me to see a lung specialist now to ensure I don't have any damage that needs to be treated immediately.

Nothing's certain with any of this shit, of course, she's just going on the info she has gathered, the fact that I was otherwise healthy before cancer and what she knows about the drug and its sometimes brutal effects.

Then she asks me what I want to do.

Shit. I know can be opinionated, but at the best of times, I like to think a bit about stuff before I commit to giving my two cents (or in this case my million fucking dollars).

"If I don't go ahead with round eight, I'll be robbing myself of one last hit of the hard stuff to knock cancer on its ass. And if things go sideways later on, I'll always wonder whether one last dose woulda helped me out. But if I do go ahead, I could come out of this thing with flying colours only to end up with permanent lung damage. Not much of a choice here."

Dr. A. just smiled benevolently and stayed silent as she always does.

"I say skip round eight." Was expecting the heavens to open and the goddess of breasts to come down to confirm my decision was the right one, but nothing. All I heard was the doc in the next room saying loudly and slowly to her patient, "Do you feel hungover today or are you still drunk?" Ah, the motley crew of cancer cowgirls/boys.

I know I'll never feel 100% sure about that decision, but it's done. So what does all this mean, other than a very anti-climactic end to chemo? Well, first I have another little peculiarity. I have a rather fast heart rate these days. It was 125 when I went in to get my fever checked last week. It was 112 when Dr. A. checked today. And even though it was still around 100 when I had my first visit before a chemo drug ever entered my veins, Dr. A. is worried the herceptin (the other chemo drug I'm getting these days, and will continue to get for several more weeks) is having an effect on my ticker, which is THE side effect of herceptin.

Because I've never had cause to think about what my regular heart rate is and I'm only 38 so haven't had a shitload of tests done on my heart as part of growing older, I have no real history to offer her. So she won't give me another dose of herceptin until I have another heart scan, which will be tomorrow morning at 7:30 am. The lovely tin injection and 45 minute repose on the machine. Love.

If that turns out to bring bad news, then who knows what next.

The other change is that radiation will now need to happen stat. Technically, I'm ready to receive it as early as Friday, but have had no prep, no tattoos, no body mold, no "teach". But if there's one thing I've learned about carrying the cancer card, things get fucking done around here, man, with no messy wait times.

So... um... I'm finished with chemo then? My hair can begin officially growing back (although I already have some decent sproutage already), I can move to a new wing of the cancer clinic (I hear the wi-fi is terrible in radiation, though) and get to know a new set of cancer wizards. So, yay! This calls for a new pair of sexy and hard-to-walk-in shoes... oh wait.