I wanted this blog to be about something other than cancer and medical appointments. Sometimes, I need to stop this merry-go-round I seem to be on and focus on other things. I am to have a biopsy in a few days. It is a tedious procedure, and I don’t look forward to it, but I am also impatient, ready to get on with what is necessary to get this treatment show on the road. My life depends on it. This has been an unpreceded year, a confusing time for all of us. For me, the collective challenges seem to compound the personal challenges I am currently facing. But I guess we all have seasons of joy and seasons of pain. We must have faith that tomorrow will be better, but we have to make it happ
It is hard to quantify a feeling. We are asked to rank physical pain on a scale of 1-10, and yet, when the heart is breaking, when the emotions run deep, there is no objective way to describe it because somehow, words seem insufficient. We give a label to things because we must call them something in order to give them meaning. There is the idea that naming something gives it power, including the power to hurt us. And so, you sit with that emotion, trying to calm the fear inside, the thing that makes you want to run, even though you know there is no place to hide. If that sounds dramatic, it is because for me this is a dramatic moment, a place revisited too many times. I am reminded of that
Every six months, I drink a vile potion of barium mixed with some sort of artificial flavoring. The berry is the easiest to force down, although I have recently discovered cappuccino, which is a close second. I extend my arm and a nurse searches for a good vein into which to inject the radioactive dye. After several pokes, I suggest that they use my port. They aren’t trained to access it in this department or so I am told. Ah, modern medicine with narrow specialties. The lights are dimmed, and I sit quietly for an hour while the stuff makes its way through my circulatory system. It can’t be good for me to have that kind of poison in my body, I figure, but I am left with little choice. Fina
Life can change in an instant, the quick blink of an eye. I think that’s one of those universal truths that we all nod in agreement with when we hear it said. On July 3, 2017, my world was forever changed. Three words, “You have cancer” followed by the compound adjective, “late-stage,” sent my head spinning, my heart beating wildly. I tried not to cry as I sat stone still, nodding like one of those silly novelty dolls you place on the dashboard of your car. The doctor, who delivered the diagnosis, seemed rather clinical and matter-of fact and I remember thinking how unfortunate that all of those years of medical school hadn’t taught him how to soften the blow for his patients. Of course, I a
