I have butterflies in my stomach. These aren’t your everyday daintily fluttering butterflies. My butterflies are BIG. I mean really really BIG. I’m talking about a gut full of huge steroid taking butterflies wearing steel-toed combat boots.
At least that’s how it feels.
I had my PET-CT scan earlier today. Overall, it wasn’t a horrible experience. I was temporarily radioactive, and my arms got a little sore after 30 minutes in the same position, but that was essentially the worst of it. I’ve decided that any procedure that doesn’t directly involve the poking or prodding of my butt is reasonably tolerable.
Next to me on the table is a CD. On the CD are the results of my scan. I’m bringing it to the oncologist tomorrow, and he will tell me what my future holds. It’s strange knowing that the course of my life will be forever changed tomorrow. Not knowing the stage of my cancer thus far has been difficult, but it has also allowed me the luxury of an irrational kind of hope. It’s as if in some illogical part of my psyche, I don’t officially have cancer yet. Tomorrow will set the presence of this disease in stone.
I’m especially antsy, because Gregg has been at my side for every doctor’s appointment up to this point. Tomorrow, he can’t be there. As flexible as his job can be, his presence is required at McGuire AFB tomorrow. I actually think the day will be harder on him than it will on me.
Fortunately, my mother-in-law is driving down to join me. I have said on many occasions that I hit the “in-law lottery” with Gregg’s parents. Their constant love and support over the past 20 years has been a blessing beyond words. I’ve always felt that my mom sent Gregg and his family to me, because she knew they were exactly what I needed in my life.
In 13 ½ hours I will know…
…It’s going to be a long night.
Tomorrow the real kicking begins.
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