Tuesday, 21 August 2018

90 Days


My last set of test results were not what I wanted. They weren't bad results, thank God, just really not what I wanted. 

I'm not a great wait-er. I'm the one who goes and buys my kids Christmas gifts, and I can barely wait until Christmas to give them. I want to charge in the house with the Amazon boxes (God Bless Amazon), and let the kids rip into them right there. But - I know - then there would be nothing for Christmas, and Christmas is special - and the waiting is just as important as Christmas morning itself. 

So, when the Dr. said - the tumor has shrunk, but we still see activity and we'll have to wait three months to confirm what it is with another scan...my first thought was, hell. I'm going to be living in a special kind of cancer purgatory. The scan in 90 days can go two ways, one is for the tumor to either shrink further, or stay the same size.  If that's the case, I'm on Remission Road, and I can maybe start building a "new" normal - whatever that is, it will likely require counselling. But, if there is growth, we start what could be a long road that ultimately ends in further treatments, more waiting, several procedures, and a stark recognition that things are somewhat more serious. My Dr. did say to me that in the majority of the cases he has seen, the tumors usually don't grow. Which was nice of him to say - but I've found that things aren't necessarily easier. 

I'm about in the middle of the 90 days. So far it has been both better and worse than I expected. Some days I am a strong, hopeful survivor where nothing is going to get to me, and others I am quiet, serious, withdrawn and sad - searching for something, anything that will tell me, you're going to be alright. For example, there's a medical paper posted online that talks about PET scans, Deauville Scores, and SUVs. I've read it probably 172 times. Why? Because it gives me a bit of hope? Because I'm crazy? The jury's still out. 

So, what to do in the waiting? Well...I'm trying out a few things. I try to put the medical paper's down, try to put my phone away, and try to go out side to sit in the sunshine. I try to kiss my kids (when I can catch them), and give out hugs and treats as often as possible. I putter around, drive places and pretend that everything is "normal". I try to laugh and listen, to read and think. To cry when it comes, and accept joy as a part of the little things. To remember that the waiting is important, even when I can't control the outcome, when I don't know the outcome. 

To wait. To hope. Always to hope.


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