Waiting. The waiting part is getting easier. I had a CAT last week. Those are actually getting harder. Going there, waiting, ignoring the CNN (I wrote a whole post on that here), talking to the very nice man who opened up my vein for the magic potion that makes your “groin” hot–as they say in measured tones–feeling flooded with the heat, trying not to laugh loud when thinking, “now that’s some really hot pussy,” breathing when the automated man says to, holding my breath when he says that too. All of that. Hard. Drinking the Kool-Aid. Yuck, hard. Feeling incredibly nauseated afterward. Hard.
But the wait for results, not as hard. Dr. Z is out of town, so we left it at, the nurse will call me in if it’s bad and they won’t tell me anything if it’s not bad. And I see the doc next month. Before, I would have freaked with that sort of test-answer lag. And yes, a tiny part of me is like, what if they forgot to look, forgot to call, and I’m riddled with the stuff again? But another part of me says I feel pretty good, everything seems normalish, I’m ok. Which is downright unusually sane for me with this.
Actually my biggest worry is that these tests–the Kool-Aid, the hot-pussy potion–are all accumulating in my body, making me feel progressively worse each time. And as we all know the things we use to test for and treat cancer… cause cancer.
Oy. And is it just me, but does cancer seem downright trendy right now? Like the media simultaneously are waking to the notion that people are living longer, regularish lives with it. Which I hope doesn’t detract from outrage/research on actually sussing out the sources of it, getting rid of all the chemical root causes, the things that are making so many of our cells and lives mutate in horrible ways.
