MRI Pelvis Rectum sounds like it would be a great name for a death metal band – with their cider and overpriced-lager fuelled fans all erupting in a massive moshpit.
And when part of the moshpit evolves into a circle pit, powered by sweat and the hope that no-one falls over and gets trampled on, the band brings on a not-so-secret guest vocalist.
Sadly, instead of being an amazing night out, it’s actually a procedure I undergo every few months at my cancer hospital so the experts can see whether my tumours have spread or are behaving and are just staying dormant.
For anyone unfamiliar with the process, you lie as still as possible in a big tube while (here comes the science bit) a magnetic field is created by lots of strong magnets. This causes all the protons in your body to realign and the radio signals that are produced are used to create images.
I’d say it’s the closest the NHS comes to an interactive art piece in the Tate Modern.
This was most evident to me the first time I had such a scan a decade or so ago when it was to check if there were any trapped nerves in my spine.
The hospital I went to said I could bring in some music so amidst the whirring sounds of the magnets and the beeps from the machine they played the first Stormzy album for me.
It was a surreal experience to say the least.
I know that my incurable bowel cancer will probably be the thing that kills me, with the statistics showing only 11 percent of people with my disease last longer than five years.
But until last week I wasn’t too worried about the results of scans. They’ve been basically the same for months, meaning my treatment has been doing its job – with the chemotherapy and immunotherapy punching the cancer cells in the face.
That was until I got the alarming news from my tumour marker blood tests that showed it had shot up from around 18, like it has been for a long time, to 82.
I don’t know if I’ll fully understand how tumour markers work, which is just one of the many reasons why I’m a journalist rather than a scientist, but basically the higher the number the more active the tumours are inside a patient’s body.
Anything under 38 is considered ‘normal’ so I’m pleased to report that my latest tumour marker test showed the level has dropped to 31.
So instead of thinking I will be told my cancer is gradually spreading, when I hopefully get the scan results next week, I’m optimistic that the high number was just a blip caused by the colds and infections everyone has been a victim of this winter.
And if it is a case that the cancer is spreading slightly I’m hopefully that my medical team can adapt my treatment so the chemotherapy can punch the tumours in the face extra hard.
Whatever happens, I need to stop focusing on #scanxiety (it’s a real hashtag on social media) because there’s nothing I can do until I have definite answers next week.
Instead I will focus on the important job of finding a pub for after the scan results where my mum can have a nice plate of scampi and chips.
She comes with me to all my scan result appointments and has had to put up with some poor plates of food afterwards.
Hopefully next week will be a good one, both in terms of scan results and succulent scampi.
