Scanziety
Today I sat in the exam room like I do every six months these days (I’ll get to move to a year someday but not for another couple of years). Yesterday I had an MRI on my arm and a CT scan of my chest to see if the cancer has spread (the lungs and liver are the two most likely spots for me). The doctor would come and tell me one of two things. Looks good or it metastasized, here’s the plan to extend your survival (note, in my case the latter news is “usually fatal”). Of course the tension mounts and I try to remain calm. Then there’s the game when the door opens. Does he look like he has good news or bad. Steel yourself! Dr. Letson my original surgeon had this entrance down to an art. As the door swings open he’d announce “I looked at your scans and everything looks great.” Phew!
One time he open the door and said “I looked at your scans…Can I see your arm?” Instant panic. He saw it and quickly realized his error and declared “Oh sorry, everything looks good.”
It’s a brutal recurring event. Much more so for many of my friends who face much higher odds of their disease metastasizing than I do. For some it’s not a question of if, but when. This time it’s a bit more tense. I have a mass in my neck, or maybe just a soft disc. No one is sure yet but the mass/tumor crowd out numbers the soft disc crowd right now. An upcoming PET scan should clear that up (I hope). I’m hoping for clear scans so I can concentrate on figuring out if I have a mass in my neck or not. If I have mets in my lung or liver the odds of the tumor folks being right is depressing.
So I sat today thinking I’m once again facing my mortality head on. I’ll find out shortly if I can still plan on making my kids take care of me in my 90s or do I have to start working on making it to 46. As brutal as it is I think it’s a blessing. I’m forced to think seriously every six months about my life and how I’m living it. If I die this year, from cancer or a drunk driver taking me out on the way home one night, am I happy with how I’ve been living? Am I really taking part in the simple enjoyment of everyday life? Am I making meaning contributions to my family, God, friends? In the last several months? No. I’d lost sight. Thank God for this reminder!
So Dr. Rushing walked in finally. As the door opened he was looking at a piece of paper shaking his head. Panic. Then he mutters something about how hard it was to get hold of radiology.
“Everything looks good”