Today is the first day of spring, 2012. As the pollen falls and bursting buds imbue the world with color and fragrance, I’m contemplating my future. This is day two of my latest round of scans, the windows into my body and the prognosticators of my chances for survival.
One hour in a clacking, thumping, thrumming MRI machine. One hour, in between bags of fluids force fed into my vein, and then the wait. I think Dr. Mike Gorum, one of my neurosurgeon spinal structural engineers, is as anxious as I am to see this round of scans. If Mike and John Cabelka have killed this tumor, I have a great chance to live with this cancer diagnosis. If the tumor is still growing, my chances for a good quality of life for the remainder of my life are slim.
The scans today are going to tell that tale. I want to see the end of that tale. If my life was a book, I’d flip over to the end to see how the next few months are going to play out. I plan on this first day of this spring being the first day of my life’s spring. The good news that I’ll get today, or some day soon, will be the bellwether of just how far into the future I’m going to be allowed to get.
I’m not afraid. I feel like the bumper sticker I’ve seen on trucks driven by obvious rednecks: “I ain’t skeered!” I was talking to a cancer “sister” the other day, extolling the virtues of a small dose of an antidepressant — in my case, Celexa — as a vital part of living with cancer. Without noticeable side effects, my edges are rounded. I can walk straight toward this thing that is trying to kill me without fear or trepidation. People tell me I’m brave. They say I’m a shining example of how to live with cancer. I’m just being the only way I know how to be. I think Dr. Pippas’ urging me to take the Celexa has been so important in my overall comfort, despite my awareness that there are malevolent forces at work inside me.
The love of a good wife and good sons and the arms of my community enfold me as I watch the liquid drip into my arm and contemplate the walk down the hall to be slid into that tube of medical magic. Please pray for good news for us today. I have the feeling that this day is my life as a balanced apothecary scale. The right news today would slip enough weight into the “Good” side to tip me toward good life.
It is so good to feel like writing again. Thanks for going with me.