No #8

We were at the lab this morning to see if my blood counts had come up enough for me to go into the hospital tomorrow for my last chemotherapy, the ever elusive Round #8. Then we went across the hall to hematology to see Dr. Lonial for the verdict.

"You're done," he said as strode into the examination room, brisk as usual.

Jimmy and I stared at each other with "Huh?" expressions on our faces.

"No more chemo; you're done," he said. " Your counts still aren't up high enough, and the dangers of more toxicity to your bone marrow outweigh the benefits. We've been hitting you pretty hard for six months now, and these last few rounds were precautionary anyway. We haven't seen any evidence of cancer in months."

So.

I have a PET scan scheduled for Friday, then an appointment with a doctor in radiation oncology. They think that peanut-sized thing that used to be a tumor is just scar tissue, but they may want to zap it with a pop of radiation. I hope not. I REALLY don't want any radiation, but I'll talk to them.

I guess we should be jubilant about this turn of events, but to tell you the truth, I think we're just numb. We're both pretty worn out, and have been dealing with nasty summer colds for the last week.

I'll let you know what we learn Friday.