No matter what, I can never fall asleep the night before I have to go to the hospital. I no longer search the internet for information, I don’t spend hours thinking about all the what-ifs… I can keep myself busy without doing any of that. I think about what’s waiting for me over the next few days, scroll through Instagram, read articles, think about where we could go over the weekend, how much Pilsen has changed, what I need to clean tomorrow… basically anything, as long as I don’t fall asleep. Even when I’m tired and sleepy. This is one of the more difficult challenges I’ll have to deal with in the future.

Luckily, this Monday turned out to be quite busy. At 6:45 in the morning, I had to get my blood drawn. Then back home to pick up my son and take him to kindergarten. I had a few things to take care of, so by the time I got to the oncology waiting room, time was passing fairly quickly.

When I walked into the doctor’s office, he asked me, as always, how I was doing.

“Good,” I replied, but with a question mark in my voice, because this time I was expecting him to tell me how I was doing.

The doctor was looking at his monitor, going through my paperwork. So, while he was doing that, I told him that all my eyelashes had fallen out again, along with quite a bit of my eyebrows. They’re growing back now, though. No reaction.

Meanwhile, the nurse was on the phone advising someone that even though they weren’t feeling well, they really didn’t like patients taking those vitamins. They promote growth, and that’s not something we want in oncology patients. Buy yourself a throat spray or something, but stop taking those. There’s no need to panic, just put them aside.

When she hung up, I asked her, just to be sure, which vitamin she was talking about. B12, apparently. Well, I’m not taking that one. Good.

“You had your PET scan before the surgery, is that right? And when exactly did we start your maintenance treatment? There’s a bit of a mess in here,” my doctor turned to me.

I had a scan after the surgery, but apparently it wasn’t a PET scan. Hard to say. This time, I hadn’t brought my folder with me. My last chemotherapy was on May 11, and I’ve been taking Lynparza since July 1.

“Alright, never mind, I’ve got everything here. For some reason, the doctor who evaluated your scans from Friday compared them with the ones from before your surgery. I have no idea why. But when you read the report, the important thing is that everything is clear. There’s nothing visible. No metastases, no enlarged lymph nodes.”

Finally! That’s what I wanted to know. The doctor certainly kept me waiting…

At that moment, I took the news just as matter-of-factly as he delivered it. I took my papers, thanked him, and went to the pharmacy to pick up another supply of my medication.

I take two pills in the morning and two in the evening, twelve hours apart. Always after eating, because otherwise I feel really sick. If I don’t eat enough, or if my stomach simply doesn’t agree with the pills that day, I feel a little faint. But it’s nothing serious.

On my way home from the hospital, though, I started smiling. It was all beginning to sink in, and somehow, I finally dared to believe that things might actually be okay.

That I don’t have cancer.

I can’t say I’m healthy, because I still haven’t fully recovered from everything I’ve been through. But the worst is behind me.

And yes, I know. For now.

“At the moment, there is no visible cancer on any of the scans.”

But that’s enough.

I’ve been prescribed olaparib for two years. Two years of peace of mind. And what happens after that, we’ll see.

For now, I’m incredibly happy!