(Sc)anticipation

Almost every time I've gone in for a scan it was supposed to be a defining moment in this battle against Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Either it was expected to confirm the cancer was gone or that more treatment was needed. Tormentingly, it's rarely turned out to be so clear cut. Once it looked like the cancer was definitely back, but the biopsy only showed scar tissue. Then we thought we had it beat but the following scan looked more ambiguous. So tomorrow's scan is supposed to define the ambiguity. I hope it does. I'm not sure my nerves can handle three more months of non-committal cancer. (To be clear, I'm hoping the commitment is to the cancer being gone, not starting another long term relationship with dear old Hodgkin's).

I generally try to play it cool when people ask about the cancer. Things genuinely have been going pretty well. I feel great, my hair is getting longer, chemo is just a memory. And yet these scans never fail to get me worked up. Every twinge in my chest or ache in my back puts me on high alert. I twist around, I stretch, I try to identify exactly where the pain is originating and then I compare it to a chart of where my lymph nodes are. I also rub my neck and arm pits at least every other day to see if I notice any swollen nodes. And the neurotic checking and worrying only intensifies as the scans get closer.

For about a month after a scan, I'm still focused on the most recent results. Surely not much has changed, right? By the second month I start thinking about little pains and what they might mean. I start reading too much into back pain that's probably caused by sitting in an arm chair for hours working on a powerpoint. When month three rolls around I put my life into a full fledged holding pattern. I don't apply for jobs, I don't go on dates, and I (apparently) cannot bring myself to make important plans for the upcoming semester. I don't do any of these things (and quite a few others) because all I can think about is "WHAT IF the cancer is back?" I've heard about paralyzing fear that causes someone to physically freeze up, but this fear paralyzes my personal and professional life. It's like WWJD for cancer patients/survivors. Every decision, big or small, is made in the shadow of the looming concern of What if the Cancer's Back? In this past month alone I've skipped applying for a job in the fall that was perfect for me and would provide much needed income, I've avoided putting my fall syllabus together, and well...let's not even talk about dating.

So tomorrow I will go to the hospital where they'll inject me with radioactive sugar and run me through a high-tech tube that will take thousands of images of my innards and determine my physical and psychological well being for the next three months. For those of you interested, a friend told me the radioactive sugar is actually "anti-matter," just in case me being radioactive wasn't nerdy enough.

                            An example of the machine that I'll be run through

My anticipation is high and won't abate until Wednesday when my results come back. Until then I'll be pretending that I'm not neurotic, but I suppose that's all relative anyway, right?