I walked out the door on the way to my appointment, thinking, "Nothing too terrible can happen on a day that I'm wearing this hat and these shoes!"
And it turns out that I was right!
The results came in, and.... drum roll, please... Tumor #9 is shrinking. Halle-freakin-lujah!
He didn't go down as much as Dr. H was hoping he would (don't ask me what the good doctor's expectations were... he wouldn't tell me), but the tumor did shrink by *approximately 15%.
Which, I will take. Considering my scans this winter were showing approximately 20% growth every six weeks, the fact that two rounds of chemo not only stopped the tumor's growth, but also shrunk the size by 15%, is a serious win.
The plan for now is to do another two rounds, and then do another scan six weeks from now to see what changes have occurred. (Many people have asked and I honestly don't have an answer for, ultimately, how many rounds of chemo I'll do. As long as the tumor is still there, but shrinking, my understanding is that we'll continue on the same path. If the tumor stops shrinking, we'll move to an undisclosed Plan B. ... One of the many joys in having a rare cancer? Having a treatment plan tailored to my body's whims. Good thing I have an oncologist who's a sarcoma specialist, eh?)
Round III will start Friday. As in, in two days.
I won't lie, my body's reaction to knowing we have another round right around the corner is to tighten up every muscle in my stomach in preparation for a serious puke-fest. But my mind's reaction is, "Now that I know it's working, I can do this." (And, as we all know, I pride myself on letting my brain overrule my body.) When it comes down to the ugly, nitty-gritty, stuff in life, as long as I can wrap my head around it, I am all in. ... And, right now, I'm so happy to know that the chemo is working that I'm more than willing to subject my body to at least two more rounds.
So, there you have it. The tumor is shrinking. Chemo is continuing. And I'm loving modern medicine, even if (when) it makes me want to curl up in a ball and die.
*This is an approximation. Dr. H did the math half in his head and half on his phone, muttering about how I always want to know percentages, the whole time through. Since I always want to share my info with "the whole world" (his words), he wanted to make sure I understood that the number may be closer to 14. Or maybe 16. I asked him if I was approved to use the wording "approximately 15%", and he conceded that, as long as I threw the word "approximate" in there, I had his approval to "tell the whole world" that the tumor had 15% shrinkage. So, there you have it. My tumor shrunk by approximately 15%.