waiting for results again….
Had my latest meow (CAT) scan today. Yuck. The rude hospital people, the new TV in the waiting room blaring bad-news CNN (T said they should have the all ocean-waves channel on instead), the usual, nasty Crystal Lite crap (T bravely, lovingly took a radioactive sip), and the increasingly uncomfortable rush of heat as they inject the “contrast dye.” And then the ensuing headache, stomachache yuck. I cried by some over-bloomed white tulips outside an apartment building. I tried going back to work, which is ridiculous after being in a gown in a cancer hospital watching people who seem to be dying with emptying bags of blood and fluid attached to their mobile beds, my own blood swimming with fresh toxins. I lasted an hour, then bailed. Feel like such a failure, like my body is not letting me be up to snuff. I crave a little self-tenderness. A little inner slack. But it’s mostly tom-toms and struggle.
I called my mom after and she said she was sorry I had to go through this. And I felt like, damn, yeah, me too. And I saw the scope of it. That I’ll be doing this my whole life. At least until someone engineers a cure. I heard this weekend that a good friend’s sister—also healthy, young, alive—has leukemia. WTF?
I’m too tired to weave this into any sort of gold, to any sort of lesson. It all just feels hard again. Hard to care for myself and be in an office all day. Hard to know these tests will be happening for years, and especially hard to wait two days for the results. I can close my eyes and feel around and not feel those poison lymph blooms. I’m wondering if there’s a way to create an accurate psychic diagnostic for myself. If dogs can smell cancer, can’t I sense it in my own body? I mean, it emits, it replicates, it presses against organs. Can I know? Can I know in between scans if I need to worry or not?
I keep comparing it all to having had my house broken into; every creak is a thief.
Time for sleep.
Much love, sunny blessings.
