My Voice Came Back: A Stage 4 Cancer Miracle, Hope, and My Latest CT Scan
Behind the CT Scan, A Week I Won’t Forget
There are weeks that quietly change your life.
This was one of them.
In just a few days, I had a CT scan, met with a speech therapist who gave me new hope, and then sat across from my oncologist to discuss my CT scan results and the next steps in my stage four cancer treatment.
From the outside, it probably looked like just another week filled with medical appointments.
But if you’ve ever lived with cancer, you know better.
Some of the biggest battles are fought in silence.
They are fought in waiting rooms.
Inside CT scanners.
In conversations with doctors.
And in the quiet moments between appointments, when your mind races through every possible outcome.
This week reminded me of that all over again.
The Questions Only a CT Scan Can Answer
On July 20th, I walked into the imaging center knowing there were questions only a CT scan could answer.
Has the cancer grown?
Has it spread?
Did stopping my Keytruda immunotherapy because of pneumonitis give the cancer an opportunity to come back?
I tried to stay positive.
I prayed.
But the truth is, those questions never completely leave your mind.
Not until someone shows you the pictures.
About an hour before the scan, I had to drink two large bottles of a flavored liquid mixed with barium.
Most people have no idea why.
The barium fills the stomach and intestines so the radiologist can clearly distinguish the bowel from tumors, lymph nodes, and other organs. It helps prevent something perfectly normal from being mistaken for cancer and makes it easier to identify abnormalities if they are present.
Then it was time.
I climbed onto the CT scanner table.
The technologist positioned me, connected the IV that had already been started, and the scanner slowly began to move.
Part way through the scan, the technologist injected IV contrast through the IV in my arm.
Within seconds, it traveled through my bloodstream, highlighting my blood vessels, lymph nodes, my liver, kidneys, and other organs. Cancer often develops an increased blood supply, making tumors much easier for the radiologist to see.
Then came the familiar sensations.
A wave of warmth spread through my body.
A metallic taste filled my mouth.
And then that strange feeling that makes almost every first time patient panic.
It honestly feels like you’ve wet yourself.
You haven’t.
But it certainly feels like you did.
Those sensations only last about thirty seconds.
The scan itself is over in just a few minutes.
Then you get dressed…
Walk out of the imaging center…
Get into your car…
And suddenly realize there is absolutely nothing more you can do.
The pictures have been taken.
The answers already exist.
You just don’t know them yet.
That waiting may be one of the hardest parts of living with cancer.
A Miracle I Never Expected
While I was waiting for my CT scan results, something else continued to happen.
Something I still struggle to put into words.
My voice kept coming back.
If you’ve been following my journey, you know how emotional this has been for me.
For months, I slowly lost one of the greatest gifts God has given us.
My voice.
At first, it simply became weaker.
Then people started asking me to repeat myself.
Eventually there were times when people couldn’t understand me at all. Talking became exhausting. Restaurants became frustrating. Phone calls became almost impossible. In noisy rooms, I often just stopped trying because I knew no one could hear me.
You don’t realize how much your voice is part of who you are until it’s gone.
Losing one of your senses changes your life.
It changes how you communicate.
How you socialize.
How you connect with the people you love.
How you work.
Even how you pray.
There were many nights I asked God for one simple gift.
“Please let me speak again.”
I’ll be honest.
As the months went by, my faith was tested.
Not because I stopped believing in God.
But because I began wondering if this was simply going to be my new normal.
I started preparing myself to live the rest of my life with the voice I had left.
Then something changed.
Little by little.
Week by week.
Almost so gradually that I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it.
People stopped asking me to repeat myself as often.
Phone conversations became easier.
Conversations with family became more natural.
I could actually hear my own voice getting stronger.
Today, I can honestly tell you…
It continues to improve.
Every single day.
I don’t know if my voice will ever return completely to what it once was.
Maybe it will.
Maybe it won’t.
But I know this.
What I have today is more than I had yesterday.
And for me…
That feels like a miracle.
I don’t use that word lightly.
I’ve lived long enough to know that miracles don’t always happen in dramatic moments.
Sometimes they arrive quietly.
One stronger sentence at a time.
One conversation at a time.
One answered prayer at a time.
I don’t believe I earned this.
I believe I was blessed with it.
And every morning when I wake up and realize my voice is a little stronger than it was the day before, I stop and thank God.
Not because my journey is over.
But because He reminded me that even after everything cancer has taken from me…
He is still restoring things I thought were gone forever.
Hope for Even More Recovery
Maybe that’s why my appointment with the speech therapist meant so much to me.
She wasn’t simply evaluating my speech.
She was helping me protect a miracle I had almost lost.
What an incredible experience.
She didn’t just evaluate my speech.
She listened.
She encouraged me.
She looked beyond where I am today and focused on where I might still be tomorrow.
After evaluating me, she recommended a Video Fluoroscopic Swallowing Exam, a specialized X-ray that allows doctors to watch exactly what happens when I swallow. Years of surgery and radiation have changed how the muscles in my throat work, and this test should help identify exactly where the problems are occurring.
She also referred me to an ENT specialist and another physician who specializes in Botox injections for the muscles in my neck and shoulder.
Years of surgery and radiation have left significant scar tissue and muscle tightness throughout the left side of my neck.
If relaxing those muscles can improve my swallowing, reduce pain, or even help my voice continue to recover…
I’m ready.
For the first time in a long time, I walked out of an appointment thinking not about what cancer had taken from me…
But about what I might still get back.
Hope.
The Appointment Every Cancer Patient Understands
Later that afternoon, it was time.
The appointment.
The one every cancer patient understands.
I don’t care how many CT scans you’ve had.
I don’t care how many years you’ve been fighting.
Walking into your oncologist’s office never feels routine.
Every scan has the potential to change your life.
Every appointment can deliver incredible news…
Or heartbreaking news.
I sat across from my oncologist.
We talked.
Then he opened my CT scan.
My heart was pounding.
The first thing he discussed wasn’t the cancer.
It was my lungs.
Several months ago, my Keytruda immunotherapy had to be stopped because it caused pneumonitis, inflammation in my lungs. It was one of those cruel ironies of cancer treatment. The very medication helping fight my cancer had also begun damaging healthy tissue.
The good news came first.
The pneumonitis had improved significantly.
My lungs were healing.
Then he continued.
There was no evidence of new distant metastatic disease.
I cannot describe the relief I felt.
When you hear the words stage four metastatic cancer, your life changes forever.
Read more about what a stage four cancer diagnosis really means.
From that moment on, every CT scan becomes another crossroads.
You don’t celebrate because you’re cured.
You celebrate because you’ve been given another season.
Another chapter.
Another opportunity to keep fighting.
Because my lungs continue to heal and there was no evidence of new metastatic disease, my oncologist decided to continue pausing my cancer treatment until my next CT scan in October. The July scan also documented significant improvement in the pneumonitis compared to my previous imaging.
That wasn’t the answer I expected.
It was a better one.
Sometimes the best treatment isn’t another infusion.
Sometimes the best treatment is allowing your body time to heal.
Looking Back
As I drove home that afternoon, I found myself thinking about everything that has happened over the past year.
I thought about the day I learned my cancer had spread to my lungs.
I thought about the fear.
The tears.
The prayers.
The uncertainty.
I thought about the days when I wondered if I would ever speak clearly again.
I thought about all the people who have prayed for me.
The messages.
The phone calls.
The cards.
The encouragement from people I’ve known my entire life, and from complete strangers who somehow found my story.
Every one of them mattered.
More than you’ll ever know.
Today, my voice is stronger.
My lungs are healing.
The cancer has not found a new place to grow.
I’m working with specialists who believe there is still room for improvement.
And instead of planning for the next few weeks…
I’m planning for another CT scan in October.
If someone had told me a year ago that I would be writing those words today, I’m not sure I would have believed them.
Cancer has taught me something.
Sometimes miracles don’t happen all at once.
Sometimes they arrive one answered prayer at a time.
One encouraging appointment at a time.
One stable CT scan at a time.
One stronger sentence spoken with your own voice at a time.
The fight isn’t over.
Stage four cancer doesn’t work that way.
I still live from scan to scan.
I still have moments when fear tries to creep in.
But fear no longer gets the final word.
Faith does.
I don’t know what October will bring.
None of us do.
But today…
My voice is stronger.
My lungs are healing.
There is no evidence of new distant metastatic disease.
My faith is stronger than my fear.
And by the grace of God…
I am still here.
Thank you for walking beside me through this fight.
Thank you for your prayers.
Thank you for believing with me when I struggled to believe for myself.
Your prayers have carried me through some of the darkest moments of my life, and I truly believe they continue to make a difference.
If my story encourages even one person who is facing cancer, struggling with illness, or simply wondering if God still hears their prayers, then every word I’ve shared has been worth writing.
Please continue praying for me as I prepare for my next CT scan in October.
The journey continues.
And by God’s grace…
So do I.
With faith and gratitude,
Wayne Schlicht
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About Wayne’s Cancer Journey
Wayne’s Cancer Journey is more than a blog. It’s the story of my fight against stage 4 metastatic cancer, my faith in God, and my determination to live with purpose, gratitude, and hope. Here you’ll find honest updates about my treatment, the lifestyle changes I’ve made, my research into cancer therapies, and the emotional highs and lows that come with this journey. My prayer is that these stories encourage patients, caregivers, family members, and friends to never lose hope, because even in the darkest moments, miracles still happen, one day at a time.