May 10, 2011

I have known for 6 days that there is cancer in my body.  Yet, I still don’t know how much.  About 90% of the time, I feel confident that we’ve caught this early, and this time next year, I’ll be cancer free.  The other 10% of the time, I’m a stark raving lunatic who’s convinced that this is the beginning of my end.  When I’m in lunatic mode, every twinge in my back, every ache in my foot, every moment of lightheadedness has me convinced that the cancer is everywhere in my body.  Fortunately, my sanity returns quickly, and I remember that I’ve had back problems for years, I’ve destroyed my feet training for multiple races, and I’m anemic. 

Anyone who knows my history will understand my momentary lapses of reason.  My only first hand experiences with cancer have not ended well.  In my teens, I watched a beloved uncle lose his fight with this awful disease.  In college, I lost my mom to melanoma only 6 weeks after we learned of its recurrence.  I suppose it’s only natural for me to fall into these fleeting episodes of despair. 

I hope that once I actually know what I’m facing, I will be able to let go of some of the irrational fear and focus on the business of fighting this thing.  Of course, to know what’s going on, I first have to get my PET-CT scan.  I’m glad to report that at 12:30 tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be drinking some concoction that I’m sure is both foul and radioactive, then lying prone while they see what lights up inside of me. 

Scheduling this scan has been its own unique kind of lunacy.  It took 14 phone calls to 4 different offices (3 doctors and 1 insurance company), as well as 2 faxes marked urgent and a visit to my primary physician’s office to get this done.  For the last few days, the authorization papers for the scan have been sitting on someone’s desk waiting for approval.  I kept imagining some underpaid, unmotivated office worker ignoring a stack of papers, while texting a friend or updating a Facebook status.

Now the procedure is scheduled, and I realize the process to get me this far has taken less than a week.  As difficult as I have perceived this to be thus far, the reality is I should be grateful.  I have good health insurance, and after June 3^rd, when Gregg hits the 20-year mark, I’ll have good health insurance for the rest of my life.  I can’t begin to imagine facing what's ahead with the added fear of how to pay for it all.

I never thought I’d feel lucky 6 days after a diagnosis of cancer, but I do. I am lucky to have access to excellent doctors and specialists, lucky to have insurance that will cover the cost of my care, and most importantly – lucky to have so many wonderful people supporting me.  It is such a blessing to know that I will not be taking a single step of this journey alone.

It seems there are many other frogs kicking in my churn.  J