Gilda Radner was right. It is always something.
When cancer treatment ends, that doesn’t mean cancer is over. The side effects linger, some of them forever. I’ve written about the permanent and latent changes to my body, the list of which seems to be growing by the year. It’s always something.
So it goes with scans and tests, whether they occur regularly or because there’s a need to check under the hood to find that knocking sound you just noticed.
My latest adventure in health care started innocently enough. I had a one-year follow-up with my cardiologist, the original appointment with whom was to check on the health of my heart. A long line of heart disease runs through my late father’s family tree, and I had a brief bout with fluid retention and possible heart failure that is now controlled by meds, thanks be to God, science and medical research.
“Have you had a follow up scan for the spot on your lung?” my cardiologist asked.
“Come again,” I said, dumbfounded.
The angio CT I underwent last October showed a six millimeter non-calcified spot in the upper left lobe of my lung. It was now August, and this was new news. The radiologist who read the scan had recommended a follow up chest CT at six months.
“Doctor,” I said, “you are aware I’m a cancer survivor. Things like lung spots scare the crap out of us.”
Fast forward to this past Tuesday when I had the follow up CT. The spot is stable, meaning it hasn’t changed. While my primary care physician recommended I see a pulmonologist just to be one hundred percent certain, there will likely be follow up scans at six months and a year. Still, the fact that the spot is stable and too small to biopsy is a relief.
Since hearing the news, I’d felt a blade swinging over my head, and I had an epic internal thought struggle. One moment, I’d think “I’m sure it’s nothing.” The next, I’d think, “It’s 2020, therefore it’s a malignant, inoperable, untreatable … yadda, yadda, yadda.”
But it’s not that. Thanks be to God, science and medical research.
On the up side, the stress and anxiety were my fuel through the Cancer Advocacy High Holy Days, also known as the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network’s Lights of Hope Across America and virtual Lobby Day events. In spite of the worldwide pandemic and the major pivot in how these events were executed, my fellow advocates, our staff partners and I had one of the best Lobby Days ever.
I’ve kept my circle very tight on this medical adventure until now because I didn’t want anyone, particularly my family, to worry until and if it became necessary. I’m forever grateful for the people in that circle, especially the lovely Sarah. Thank you for your prayers and positive thoughts.
Here’s to life. Do something to celebrate that you’re still living yours.
No Comments