Monday, August 10, 2009
Monday, October 22, 2007
Tests
It's been two years since I completed chemo and radiation. Two years and I'm back for my tests that I've been scheduled for since I entered remission. I get nervous every time even though my chances are excellent for no recurrence. The thought of going through chemo again is unbearable... anticipatory nausea, sores from turning a key, the damn tube traveling up through my arm, bandage changes (my poor mom stressing over it), losing nails, avoiding the vision of seeing the poison moving towards me. I still twitch thinking about the last one. Hell, I still avoid the area that I had to go to for treatment. Being thought of as fragile when I was fighting a battle most people my age of 28 couldn't even comprehend was maddening. I kicked ass, and it still scares the shit out of me thinking that there's even a chance that I would ever have to go through it again.
I remember all these things frequently, but never more than when I begin my tests. From the moment they draw blood, my mind begins to reel with memories, fear and frustration. Sitting in the waiting room with others going through far worse moments than I ever came close to brings the reality home that I was very close and very lucky. It was a fluke that I even received diagnosis when I did. It was a whim that led me to the x-ray room that day in December 04. My doctor then still doesn't know why he sent me to x-ray.
Two days after the X-RAY of which I didn't given a second thought to b/c I knew I didn't have Pneumonia, I was driving in my jeep after work on St. Charles. A number I don't recognize rings my cell. It's my doctor. Uh oh, I remember thinking I've never received a call from my doctor. A nurse or assistant, yes, but never from my doctor, so I pulled over to hear better.
"What's up, doc?", a line from my favorite cartoon character.
"Well, the good news is you don't have pneumonia."
I laughed forebodingly thinking what's the next part.
He says, "The bad news is that it looks like you have some enlarged lymph nodes, so I'd like you to come in for CT Scan next week."
Damn, damn, damn...
"Uh, ok. When?" That was the start. That's when I knew I had a problem.
I remember all these things frequently, but never more than when I begin my tests. From the moment they draw blood, my mind begins to reel with memories, fear and frustration. Sitting in the waiting room with others going through far worse moments than I ever came close to brings the reality home that I was very close and very lucky. It was a fluke that I even received diagnosis when I did. It was a whim that led me to the x-ray room that day in December 04. My doctor then still doesn't know why he sent me to x-ray.
Two days after the X-RAY of which I didn't given a second thought to b/c I knew I didn't have Pneumonia, I was driving in my jeep after work on St. Charles. A number I don't recognize rings my cell. It's my doctor. Uh oh, I remember thinking I've never received a call from my doctor. A nurse or assistant, yes, but never from my doctor, so I pulled over to hear better.
"What's up, doc?", a line from my favorite cartoon character.
"Well, the good news is you don't have pneumonia."
I laughed forebodingly thinking what's the next part.
He says, "The bad news is that it looks like you have some enlarged lymph nodes, so I'd like you to come in for CT Scan next week."
Damn, damn, damn...
"Uh, ok. When?" That was the start. That's when I knew I had a problem.
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