Wednesday, 5 August 2009
I saw the oncologist today. At least, I saw his 14 year old Chinese registrar, which was a good sign right from the start: the fact that he wasn't seeing me himself meant that there was obviously nothing complicated to convey and no hard news to give. The boy in the white coat peered at me through his rimless glasses. He asked how I was doing, and wanted to know if I had trouble with my waterworks or any unusual aches and pains. He smiled and nodded encouragingly at all my answers. He told me that my PSA levels have declined to barely above the detectable level, which means that the cancer has gone. I will go back to the hospital in 6 months just to make sure and after that my GP will keep an eye on developments, or more likely, the lack of them. I felt a bit stunned and I don't think I can have looked appropriately celebratory. I walked back to the car, texted my loved ones and drove home. On Pitt Street both my girls phoned and I pulled over to answer them, then burst into tears. The albatross has fallen from my neck. I have my life back. Not the same as it was, but in many ways better.