{"id":240,"date":"2026-01-03T11:21:11","date_gmt":"2026-01-03T11:21:11","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/paul.macpherson.photography\/TMI\/?p=240"},"modified":"2026-01-03T11:21:13","modified_gmt":"2026-01-03T11:21:13","slug":"a-quietly-reassuring-check-in","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paul.macpherson.photography\/TMI\/a-quietly-reassuring-check-in\/","title":{"rendered":"A Quietly Reassuring Check-In"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Last week\u2019s oncology check-in at Princess Margaret wasn\u2019t dramatic.
There were no revelations. No turning points. No new language to learn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And that\u2019s precisely why it mattered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cancer care often conditions you to brace for impact. Every appointment feels like it might carry a verdict. But this visit didn\u2019t deliver a sentence or a surprise. It delivered confirmation: that I am still standing where I\u2019m supposed to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Clinically, I am doing well. That is the phrase they use. What it means in plain terms is this: I am active, independent, and fully functioning. My performance status remains ECOG 0\u2014the best possible score. It\u2019s not a badge of honour, but it is currency in this system. It keeps doors open. It keeps options alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the outside, I look capable. From the inside, that matters more than most people realize.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Living Inside the Trial<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

This was my second dose of the trial drug, and the focus of the visit wasn\u2019t whether it\u2019s working yet. It was whether my body is tolerating it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So far, it is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve had nausea, but no vomiting. Fatigue comes and goes, sometimes quickly, sometimes without warning. There have been moments of fog. None of this is surprising. None of it has crossed into dangerous territory. Notably, there were no infusion reactions\u2014no allergic responses, no acute events.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In fact, the team is already discussing whether to remove Benadryl from future infusions. That detail might seem small, but it carries meaning. It signals confidence. Comfort. A sense that my system is handling what\u2019s being introduced to it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When you\u2019re inside a clinical trial, tolerance is half the equation. You don\u2019t get to test effectiveness if your body rejects the process.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Numbers That Didn\u2019t Shout<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Bloodwork came back unremarkable. That word does a lot of heavy lifting in oncology.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It means my electrolytes are stable. My blood counts are holding. My liver\u2014despite everything it has endured\u2014is not showing signs of acute stress from the treatment. There is no lab-based reason to slow down, pause, or step off course.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

ECGs tell a similar story. Sinus bradycardia. A slow heart rate. Normal rhythm. Normal intervals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This isn\u2019t new. It\u2019s consistent with how my body has behaved for months now. The machines keep confirming what I already know from lived experience: my system is calm, controlled, and not in distress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In cancer care, stability is not neutrality. It\u2019s permission to continue.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What This Visit Was\u2014and Wasn\u2019t<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

This appointment was not about outcomes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was not about shrinking tumours or falling markers or declaring progress. That moment comes later\u2014January 12th\u2014when imaging and biopsy will decide whether this drug earns the right to stay in my body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This visit was about readiness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n