It has been a while since I’ve written, and a lot has happened.

A few weeks ago, I met with my oncologist. One of the questions I asked him was whether or not I needed to finish Herceptin. With each dose, I’d been experiencing more and more side effects. Frankly, I was tired of being tired, and the skin on my fingers would crack so badly that I had to glue them back together. The side effects weren’t horrible, not like chemo, but after a year of it, I was just plain exhausted.

He couldn’t give me a definitive answer. His main question to me was, “If the cancer came back, would you regret stopping now?” The standard course of treatment is 18 doses, and I’d had 15. I had plenty of Herceptin in my system. I knew there were trials studying reduced doses, but trials are difficult because it’s challenging to prescribe less than the standard of care, which often leads to patients taking more medication than they might need.

I weighed my options. Either I still had cancer, in which case the treatment needed to change, or I didn’t have cancer, and I no longer needed the drug. Both options pointed towards stopping, so I decided I wouldn’t continue with Herceptin.

I’d also been having headaches and concerning backaches. Standard post-treatment care for breast cancer involves scans only if there are symptoms. My oncologist mentioned that the threshold for scans is low, and my symptoms qualified. He warned me that any scan could reveal incidental findings, potentially leading to unnecessary invasive tests. That’s why regular scans are no longer part of the standard care. I agreed, but I felt a strong need to know once and for all—do I have cancer, or am I clear? Is it gone?

We agreed I’d have a CT scan of my head and core. It was the best tool they had to determine whether I had any remaining cancer. He arranged a scan within a two- to three-day window, followed by a telephone appointment a few days later, so I would get the results immediately and I wouldn’t have to drive into Halifax.

I had the scan on Tuesday. The results would tell me whether I was cancer-free or if the disease had spread to stage 4, which is terminal. I had reached a point where I just needed to know.

Friday afternoon, I got the call. Just as Cali was doing her business on the common green and I was reaching for a bag, my phone rang—awkward timing! My oncologist asked if I was ready for some good news. “Is it good news?” I asked. His reply: “All the scans are clear.”

It was like I could finally breathe again. The weight on my shoulders lifted, and I cried.

Now, I feel like I suddenly have a future I can plan for. I had stopped thinking beyond a few months, convinced I didn’t have a future. But now I do. Now I need to figure out what to do with that future.

I have to say, I love my oncologist. He made me feel heard throughout this process. He ensured that we had a clear plan for not only doing the scans but also discussing the results right away, so I knew exactly when I’d hear back. I didn’t feel left in limbo after the test, which is what happened when I was first diagnosed. This time, the process was so much better.

The next step in my treatment won’t start until January. I’m giving myself a few more months to recover. Even though I skipped my last dose of Herceptin, my skin hasn’t quite caught on, and the sores have come back—just fewer and for a shorter time. A few more months will allow me to grow even stronger and feel healthier before starting hormone therapy.

In January, I’ll begin taking Letrozole, an aromatase inhibitor. Since my tumour showed more than 2% estrogen positivity, hormone therapy is recommended. I didn’t tolerate it well in the past, but my body was in a very different place then—I started it before I had fully recovered from surgery and chemotherapy. This time, I’ll start when I’m strong and hope I can tolerate it better.

For now, I’m planning for the future. I’m looking forward to a winter vacation and thinking about how to set up my courses for the spring semester. The future is looking good.