"DO NOT WORRY ABOUT TOMORROW, FOR TOMORROW WILL WORRY ABOUT ITSELF" -- SOMEBODY REALLY FAMOUS SAID THAT

Tomorrow is my End of Chemo Scan.  It’s the scan we’ve all been waiting for.  The one we’ve been running at breakneck speed toward since this all began. It is the scan that will show us whether the cancer is all gone or was just hiding in the previous test – imp that it is.  It’s the scan upon which hangs so much.  It’s the one that, if clean, will be framed and hung up over the toilet – because that’s where all totally awesome information goes.  It is a quite significant scan because after it, after it comes back clean, we’ll be able to exhale.  And you know, holding your breath for more than 7 months is quite exhausting. 

There is no in-between with this scan.  The cancer is gone or it isn’t. Good news or bad.  Joy or sorrow.  I once had a blind date with a boy who had a car with no heater.  It was February.  We didn’t go on a second date.  I’m just saying there are some things in life you know right away.  This scan will be one of those things.  Each time I get one of these scans, I ask for a copy of the films.  Each time the tech looks at me strangely – like the way the Starbucks gal looks at me when I order a Short latte, not a tall, grande or Coffee Maximus, sort of like I know something I shouldn’t know.  And each time I say – “They usually give me a CD with both the PET and the CT on it.” and each time the tech nods.  The fact that I sound confident and know a little inside scoop puts them at ease.  You can get away with a lot using this technique, by the way.  So each time they burn a CD with my films on it and hand it to me.  And each time I burn rubber out of that parking lot so I can get home and pop it in my computer, look at slices of my insides and try to decipher if I’m alive and kicking or riding in a souped up piece of crap with no heater.

There is no reason to believe this scan will be anything but okay.  Every sign points to utter destruction of the cancer.  My doctor is confident.  My nurses are positive.  My friends are full of all the right phrases.  “It will be FINE!” “It’s going to be TOTALLY CLEAN!” “You have NOTHING to worry about!”  And that’s exactly what I think.  I think EXACTLY all those things.

Which is probably why I’ve spent, oh about 27 or so hours looking up statistics on Hodgkin’s relapses.  Because I’m so confident. 

Comments

[steve]

I'm in a glass case of emotion.

They've done studies, you know. 60% of the time, it works every time.

Everyone just relax, all right?

That's how I roll.

I think I don't exactly know what to think. I'll say: the right things, the right things, the right things. xo
sF

[Wendy]

hugs and good thoughts are being sent electronically from columbia maryland.

[Hollie]

I will never pretend to know the right words...but, cancer or no cancer, you're still the coolest woman I know....hands down.

[Steakbellie]

i really want this for you.

[vicki]

i just felt all my whatever that tingly stuff is go out of me to you. I pray it helps.

[Elizabeth]

Hello fellow Hodgkin's warrior. I came to your sight through the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's forum. Thank you for sharing your experience. Every time I read a post I sit here nodding my head in relief that someone else GETS it.
I am anxiously awaiting my end of chemo CTscan. This post spoke to me. I am confident...but I too, have been frantically looking up information on relapse. When I read that you did the same, I laughed.
I just had to comment....I've been looking for literature on cancer, but this is better!