liver biopsy all done. well, undone

So, yesterday came and went and the big anticipated needle did not feature!

Yes, after all my anticipation, anxiety and worry I found myself at the centre of the best kind of mystery I could dream up...the mystery of the shrinking tumours...

A gaggle of doctors surrounded me with my anaesthetist at the ready, all the paperwork finally done, the explanations given about what was about to occur, and there I was all propped up on the bed donning the exquisite hospital gown with 'easy access' to boot.

And with my eyes closed, my heart remembered all the sweet friends praying for me at that very minute. I was ready. 

Huz had been allowed in the room and was sitting in the corner just in my line of sight. It is the most comforting thing to have your very best friend and ally in all the world within arms length during one of the most stressful moments in life. I can conquer pretty much any of my fears if Huz is next to me.

And I remembered back to a few years ago in one of the first bone scans that I had when I felt the voice of Jesus say, 'Beloved, I'm here'. 

I'll never forget it. 

Those words calming the panic, and knowing (that I know that I know) He really is with me in every moment. The horrid,  the mundane, the good, the now.

And then I realise that I'm being poked and prodded for a realllllly long time. Much longer than it should really take. And then apologies are being made for not being able to locate a tumour large enough to biopsy.

Are you kidding me? You're apologising for my cancer shrinking faster than could be anticipated! Say what?! And so after spending the rest of the day at St Andrew's Hospital having a CT and then reading and re-reading a Marie Claire magazine while my amazing mum and Huz waited and waited...we left.

Just scanned. No needles.

And then Huz and I had an appointment with Dr K who is surprised at my 'almost complete response' in the liver to the chemotherapy. He was actually surprised. Awesome. So we have no idea if my cancers DNA has altered, but I don't really care. It can be tested another time when my disease has progressed further.

So I'm happy/undone.

I'm beyond grateful/ bit confused.

I'm wonderfully glad chemo hasn't been a waste of time/ I'm busy not wanting to get my hopes up.

I'm wondering if my stress that eventuated into nothing can still buy me a pair of those fabulous shoes...hmmm...

It all sounds a little strange even to my heart as I process what it means. And what does it mean to have tumours too little to biopsy? They say that stable cancer is as good as cancer shrinking. They say that a complete response is good, but let's hope the chemo keeps doing its job. 

It's just that from what we also know of my breast cancer, this doesn't correlate into a longer time frame for me on this earth. But then again, why not let hope flourish? Why not allow myself a little victory along the way?

You see, I could get used to this whole surprising my doctors thing. It's pretty fun.