OK. You know that this is tongue in cheek, right? I love how concerned my friends and family are about my health. I'm really writing this blog to tell you what it's like on the other side of the big C.
There's this strange phenomenon that people don't realize happens to those of us who are the survivors of the fight. I used to update my social media whenever I had check ups and oncology appointments to share the process, and damn! It's a long process. I'm still in it three and half years later. I don't update anymore, because everytime I say that I'm at a doctor appointment of any kind, people get worried. "Why are you at the cancer center?" "Why are you seeing your oncologist?" "What's wrong?" "We're praying for you." Please don't stop caring! But . . . really there is no need for alarm. I go to the oncologist every six months, and I have MRIs, CTs, and blood tests at least that often . . . sometimes even more often. It's just part of the deal. In order to stay healthy, everything, and I mean everything, has to be checked and double checked every few months. There will come a day when I only have to do this once a year, but that time has not yet come.
Honestly, I can't even put in a sub request to have someone cover my classes while I go to a check up without worrying half the staff about why I'm out. I was out last week with the stomach flu, and I had many colleagues concerned that I was having health issues again. If you call throwing up every ounce of sustenance for twenty-four hours a health issue, then yep. I had a health issue, but it passed just like any other normal human being who has had the flu in the past few weeks. I promise. I'm healthy and fairly normal, at least as normal as I've ever been.
So, just an update on the process. This last week, I had a freakin' two hour MRI. What the hell? I am pretty sure that my doctors can now see every square inch of my innards. I am also pretty sure that they will tell me exactly what they've told me for the last three years. Everything looks great. Still, it's extremely time consuming. Laying still for two hours, holding my breath off and one for twenty minutes, and being stuck in a tiny tube is not what I call a good time.
During this last test, I actually dozed off in the machine. Funny, I know, since it's so loud in there, but the knocking actually "knocked" me out (pun intended). While I was napping, I started to panic a little bit, because it felt like there was pressure on my chest. When I snapped myself out of my half sleep/half wakefulness, I remembered that there was a metal cage on my chest. Just one of the MRI props. I had almost used the panic button. That would have been embarassing. Then, there's the lovely dye that makes you feel like you've peed your pants. Good times. Well, it's over for another six months. I'll go back on Wednesday for my reading and follow up with my oncologist. And, no, I won't update social media, because even though I tell you not to, you're going to freak out, aren't you?
Even more than three years out, I still miss work. I still spend time in waiting rooms. I still get to experience the weirdness that is modern medicine.
As I sat in the waiting room for my turn in the MRI machine, I was struck by how far I've come. I was surrounded by people in various stages of cancer. Some in the throws of chemo, some just starting their journey, and others like me on the way out of the world of doctors. I looked at those other people and KNEW what they were going through. I knew the fear, the uncertainty, the pain, the weakness, the sadness. I could feel it with them, but I could feel something else. Hope and the realization that there are better days ahead for most of us. I know that we don't all get to come through to the other side, but I know that we all have been changed. Cancer has changed me. There is no going back, and I wouldn't want to. I am more compassionate, more empathetic, and a hell of lot stronger than I was before this began.
So, stop worrying. Save your prayers for those people that I sat next to this week. The ones still fighting the fight and the ones who won't win. As for my part, I will continue to write and keep you all up to date. I will continue to reach out and try my very best to use this experience to lift up and support others. And I will be fine.