If cancer is weird, treatment is weirder. Today I went into my scans-an hour long brain MRI followed by two jugs of "citrus" flavored barium slime. It kind of tastes like a great grandmother's cheap metal-icky perfume that takes your breath away as your throat closes. At 2 pm I got the lovely experience of yet another CT scan. No, we don't have results. I have no idea when we will, and I am vascilating between caring very deeply, and being so exhausted from the last two years and feeling so free from the medicalized part of this that I really don't give a rip. I've been feeling very good, very whole, and am NOT anxious in the least to begin chemo again. I'm not anxious to begin dealing with another clinic of any kind. Or begin with any other doctors. For someone who gave birth to her five kids at home, and just wants to live a simple life, this is the ultimate high-tech, high-drug NOT wanted life style. A little Grande Vente with foam.
Pat and I both had good feelings about going into this scan. I've been doing so well, recuperating from the last years of chemo, basking (almost-this will take some time) in Sarah being done with her treatment, and it feels like the tide is turning. No crises, no trauma, no drama. Aaah. So I'm kind of vibrating thinking that this could turn again, and possibly mean starting over with all the medical interventions. But maybe it won't. But maybe it will. The head games are almost as bad as the drugs.
I guess that one of the issues too, is that a friend just passed away a short time ago in Hawaii from a brain tumor, another is going to be entering hospice, and another just had surgery on a brain tumor. It feels heavy around here, and so it's hard to look at the bright side sometimes. I don't remember all this cancer when I was growing up. Anybody want to look into an environmental epidemiologist? Something? I long for the words "No Evidence of Disease".
Tomorrow we'll call to set up an app't to review scans. They should be ready by Monday. Pat's got a screen saver that says "You cannot stop the waves, but you can learn to surf". Yep. I'm still learning.
Been talking to God a bit-you know how they say people start bargaining, looking for signs, etc. I take consolation in a potential sign...in the scariest restroom in the hospital, the automatic flush toilet designed to save water truly only flushed once not thrice. Awesome. And then, to further confirm that grace was with me, the automatic towel dispenser worked without doing any Tai Chi or even smacking it. Things must be turning around.
When we got back from the hospital, Daniel ran outside, gave me a big hug and asked where I'd been. I told him "The hospital", and he immediately checked out my port to give it some attention as it typically has a cotton ball taped to it each Wed. and Fri., and the occasional Thursdays for IV treatments. He's extremely compassionate. Maybe after heart surgery he really gets it, or maybe he's just been wired that way from the start. Whatever it is, it makes me want to stick around for the guy. The kids are what can really ignite a passion for life. They understand and draw things out from us that we never ever thought we would or could on our own.
Enough ramblings for the evening...Peace and rest to you, and many hugs from lots of kids-especially those that radiate an extra measure of God's compassion. Make friends with some of these special ones. It's So worth it.
Jeanne
