Annual checkup time

In 11 days I have to go for my annual checkup at the cancer treatment center. It's a visit I kinda dread and am kind of excited for at the same time. I dread it because I don't like being around the visual reminders that cancer is real and ugly and relentless. It's so hard to walk the halls of the treatment center and see the expressions on the faces of the men and women there. I can instantly tell those just beginning treatment. They look bewildered and lost while those who've become veteran cancer patients display expressions of boredom or frustration. 

The cancer center is set up like a bicycle wheel. The center of the wheel is the hub of the treatment facility where the administration team works. There are receptionists and administrative staff here. They greet guests, help with financial issues, give out directions, and do whatever they can to aid patients during their stay. The spokes of the wheel are specific medical services like radiation therapy, chemotherapy, imaging, holistic health services, the labs, etc. It's a well-organized building and patients learn their way around quickly. 

For the past few years, when I go for my checkups, I've felt out of place. I've even noticed other patients looking at me with that "what are you doing here?" look on their faces. On the outside, I look pretty healthy. I don't show outward evidence of ever being a cancer patient, but on the inside, they have no idea what I've been through. 

This week, I've had some concerns I know I'll need to bring up to the doc when I go for my appointment. I've been having terrible hip pain, deep in the joint of my right hip. It's been so bad I can hardly walk. I also found a large lump on the back of my neck. I don't want to think those are bad omens, but it's hard not to let my mind wander there. 

I'm sure, when I bring those things up at my appointment, the doctor will pay close attention. She will more than likely order some imaging tests. I'm due for a PET scan again, but if blood work looks good, they may not want to do one. I'm kind of hoping they do. I'd rather be on guard looking for potential problems than discover them too late and have to figure out what to do about them then. Being proactive just makes sense to me, cancer isn't something I want to gamble with. 

But I'm going to try my best not to dwell on the what ifs. You can't live in that land and hope to maintain your sanity. So, I guess I'll just keep on with my daily routine until my appointment comes and see what the doctor has to say. I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I would appreciate your prayers. 

Raspberry Remedy

Today started out with a visit to my primary care physician. For some reason, before I left the house, I became extremely nervous. I don't know why, but lately, I find myself experiencing anxiety in various situations. It's not something I enjoy and though I do my best to talk myself out of it, sometimes I can't. The doctor at the cancer treatment center tells me it's post cancer PTSD. That makes sense. If I think back, I can't remember being extremely overwhelmed in crowds or reacting adversely to loud, unexpected noises - all symptoms of PTSD. 

I haven't driven much lately and that makes me nervous, too. Usually my husband drives me everywhere. It's nice having a personal chauffer, especially on the days when my arms are swollen with fluid from lymphedema, which is always worse in the summer, but I made it there safely by praying and listening to Christian radio. 

When I arrived, there weren't too many people in the waiting room. I was thankful. Everyone had on masks. I was called back quickly and the doctor came in a few minutes later. He did a brief exam, wrote my prescription and I left. On the way home, I took a few deep breaths realizing I'd been holding mine. 

My cell phone was going off with all sorts of notifications. When I looked at it, I found a couple of messages from the patient portal. Opening them, the nurse gave me information on scheduling an upper endoscopy. It seems the gastroenterologist wanted to do another one. That really scared me, especially since my brother died of esophageal cancer that had metastasized. 

I've been having a lot of problems swallowing lately. It seems food gets stuck in my throat so I'm trying to eat smaller portions of soft foods or take in only liquids. 

The only appointment available was in October, which seems so far away, but I took it and asked to be added to the waitlist. Covid has caused many doctors to have limited availability for their patients and those who can't get in usually end up going to urgent care. 

Feeling stressed to the max, I heard a voice calling from the kitchen - it was the raspberry sorbet hubby had recently picked up for me from the grocery store. Should I or shouldn't I? I asked myself the question over and over until, I finally gave in. 

What a nice treat the raspberry was! It seemed to cause me to calm down and relax. Perhaps it was the immediate sugar rush or perhaps it was the cold, I'm not sure which. In any event, I'm thankful it brought a little joy and a little peace to an otherwise stress filled day. 

I did find I had to eat it with a plastic green fork though. The stainless-steel spoon was unbearable and gave me a freezer burn on the roof of my mouth. Ain't nobody got time for that!

Doing whatever is necessary for self care is important, even if others think it's silly. I happen to love raspberry sorbet and think I'll make sure to use this stress relieving remedy often. 

The wait is the worst part

 

The day started early. I woke at 6 a.m. and tiptoed into the kitchen to have my devotional. My sweet husband had taken the day off work so he could accompany me to the hospital for the test. I didn't want to disturb him. He'd set his alarm for 7 a.m. and that extra hour of sleep would be good for him. 

The kitchen was dark when I entered. The red light from my head lamp made things take on an eery glow. Pulling out my devotional book and my Bible, I sat down at the table and began to read. 

The time went by quickly and before I knew it, I heard hubby's alarm going off and a few minutes later, the shower running. While he got ready, I went back in the room to make the bed and get dressed myself. We needed to leave the house as close to 8 a.m. as possible so we could arrive at the hospital in time to find a parking space, get registered, and pay our co-pay. 

As I busied myself with small details, I tried to keep my thoughts in check. Of course, I was worried, but I did my best not to show it. 

When we arrived at the hospital, the parking lot was already pretty full. We couldn't find a space up close, so we parked a good distance away. Thankfully, as soon as we cut off the car engine, a hospital volunteer, an elderly man, pulled up in a golf cart. He asked if we wanted a ride to the front door. We took him up on it and were amazed at how quickly he drove. 

At the registration desk, I gave my name and other information. The receptionist printed a hospital bracelet and attached it to my arm. Another volunteer, a very white-haired gentleman, escorted us to the radiology department. I wanted to tell him I knew the way already, but I didn't. 

We checked in at the radiology desk and about 2 minutes after I'd sat down, a technician called my name. Rising, I turned to Phil and said, "I love you," as I followed the young man through double doors. 

I was asked to take a seat in the blood draw chair, a large, vinyl chair with a pull-down arm. I sat down and proceeded to tell the tech about my lymphedema and my arm restrictions. He didn't balk when I said my only option was the left hand. Taking my hand in his, he began to slap the top of my wrist and hand. I knew he was trying to coax veins to stand up so he could find them better, but he explained to me anyway. After finding what he thought would be a good vein, He pulled out a syringe and proceeded to jab me working the needle side to side hoping for flash - blood flow back into the needle indicating a vein had been hit. There was none. He apologized and moved the needle to another site. I watched as the sight of the first prick swelled and turned blue. Once again, he couldn't find a vein. I laughed and told him 5 tries was his limit. He said, "No. I won't try again, but I'll call a nurse in." The nurse came and hit the vein on the first try. I was glad. I hate getting stuck over and over again. 

When the needle was in, she threaded an IV and the tech injected the radioactive tracer. It only took a few minutes. I was told we could go home but would need to return around 11:30 a.m.

Phil and I left the hospital and went home. I did a couple of loads of laundry and tried to guzzle water as I'd been instructed by the tech. 

When it came time to head back to the hospital, I began to feel anxious. I knew this was going to determine my future. 

We checked back in and my tech, Doyle, met me at the double doors. As we walked down the cold corridor, he said the test would be about an hour. 

Doyle helped me climb onto the scanner table and covered me with a warm blanket. I'd had this type of test several times before, so I was familiar with what was going to happen. The table underneath me began to vibrate slowly as the machine came to life. Doyle's cell phone went off and he left to answer it. He came right back and we got started. 

The machine moved very slowly over my face, down my sides, over my chest and trunk, then down my legs. After the first set of scans was complete, Doyle ran extra scans of my hips, spine, knees, and ankles. He said he could see degenerative changes in those areas, which my last scan had revealed. 

Finally, it was over. Doyle reminded me to drink a lot of water to flush out the radioactive tracer and we left. 

We ran by a local restaurant to pick up lunch, then headed the Cancer Treatment Center. There was a nice covered pavilion there and we planned to use it. 

It was so quiet and breezy beneath the pavilion. I talked with Phil about our future asking him if he thought I should do chemo this time if the cancer was back. He told me he didn't think I was going to need it. Secretly, I hoped he was right. 

We sat and talked for about an hour, then went home. The doctor's office told us we wouldn't get a call until later that day or perhaps the following day. 

At exactly 4:30 p.m., I got the phone call from the oncologist's office. When the phone ran, my caller I.D. did not indicate who was calling, but I answered it anyway. The nurse said, "Hi, this is Kelly, Dr. P's nurse. He asked me to tell you what your scan showed." At that very moment, I felt my heart begin to race and I held my breath. I was so scared! She said, "The news is good, there's no evidence of cancer!" It was all I could do not to drop the phone. Tears welled up in my eyes. Phil came running over and I had to motion to him that everything was okay. 

I don't remember how the conversation with the nurse ended, but I do remember, as I hung up the phone, I gasped for air. I'd been holding my breath the entire time. 

Phil and I both began to cry and hug each other. We were so very grateful for the good news and immediately began to praise and thank God. 

Waiting on test results is such a hard thing to do, especially when those results could change your life forever, in a split second. 

I have no idea why God, in His mercy, has given me another chance at living life cancer free, but I am so very grateful. I haven't taken a second of life for granted since my initial diagnosis and I'm not about to start now. 

I group messaged all of the kids with the good news. Their texts of gratitude started to pour in. 

It was such an emotionally stressful day and I was so glad it was over, but even more glad that it ended on a good note. 

The fear of recurrence is a horrible thing. None of us like to live in wonder. 

I really want to learn to thrive this year instead of merely surviving. Hopefully,  this will be the year I do that. 

God is teaching me to number my days. I don't want to waste one of them. I hope you don't either. 

Dear Body

Dear Body, 

This is a very difficult letter to write. You've broken my trust, not once, but several times in the past and here you go again. 

I thought, after you decided to pull the cancer card, we'd find a way to coexist, and we did for the most part, but apparently, you didn't think that challenge was difficult enough. You wanted to play dirty. So, you fostered a tiny clump of cells and allowed them to feed and grow in my right lung. You're sneaky. I'd have never known they were there, but for another health issue and the test that brought it to light. 

Reading the test results, I never dreamed a tumor would be present, especially in my lung. The ENT was looking for a problem in my throat. How did that happen? Was it merely coincidence, or was it God's grace allowing the CT scan to light you up? It doesn't really matter. I'm just thankful it did. Now your secret is out. 

I called the oncologist's office. I wondered if they'd like a copy of the test results. I'm glad I called because they did. They asked me to fax it right over.  After reviewing the scan, the doctor asked his nurse to call. She said I needed a chest CT within 3 months. I was thankful they were being proactive, but I was nervous at the same time. I didn't want to let my mind go there, but it did. I couldn't help but wonder if the tumor was malignant. What if rogue cancer cells had slipped into my bloodstream way back in 2014 when I had my breasts removed? I wondered if I'd be able to handle a recurrence. I didn't want to think about it, not yet anyway. Why borrow trouble, as my grandmother would say? But what would I do in the meantime? 

When I received a diagnosis of cancer on June 5, 2014, doctors suggested chemotherapy, radiation, and anti-hormone therapy. I was stage 2B and the cancer was invasive. It was estrogen and progesterone positive at 99%, which mean the chances of it coming back were good. I'd watched friends fight cancer the traditional way. They'd suffered terribly through chemo and died painful deaths shortly after diagnosis. I didn't want that. I was selfish, I wanted to live, but not that way. I chose to fight differently. 

I thought about you when I made my decision. For 56 years, I'd done my best to care for you well. Of course, there were things I couldn't have prevented, like organs that had decided to go on the fritz, or the terrible car accident in 1991, but I did my best. I ate well and exercised. I did everything within my power to keep you safe until the betrayal in 2014. Even then, I researched natural alternatives to fighting cancer and I did them religiously for 7 years and then I slipped. I got lackadaisical. I didn't adhere to a strict diet. There were days I didn't juice or take my supplements. I forgot to drink the green tea. I assumed I was cancer free and would be forever, and then...

Oh, body! I can't believe we're in this pickle! Is it my fault or yours? Does it really matter, though? Fault finding won't solve the problem and it won't contribute to the solution. So where do we go from here? I guess I'd better crack down and get serious. It's time to go into full cancer fighting mode again, even though I don't know for sure what kind of tumor is currently growing in my lung. I can't afford to let it feed and grow. I want it out now! 

But the doctor won't recheck for 3 months. I'm scared. 

So, I'll do the only thing I know to do. I'll fight. You may think I'm too weak to win, but we'll see about that. You don't know me as well as you think. You're not a mind reader, you know. I'm strong and I'm resilient. You may throw fear and anxiety at me, allowing me to shake and shudder, but I have a secret weapon you know nothing about. I have faith. 

I hear you laughing. You say my faith is too small, and I'll admit, it is. But the Bible says, "If you have faith as small as a grain of mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, move from here to there and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." Matthew 17:20. I assure you, body, I have that much faith. 

May 9th can't come quickly enough. 70 days. I wonder how much damage you can do to me in that amount of time. No. I'm not going to focus on that. I need to save my energy for the fight. 

I'm pulling out the big guns this time, body. I'll do everything I can to ensure you stay healthy and strong. And if the time comes when something else is needed, I'll consider all my options. I don't want to poison you; I love you too much. But if there's no other way, believe me when I say, I will. 

Please don't let me down again, body. I need you. I'm counting on you. 

With love, 

Bonnie

Incoming!

 When I was a kid, I remember listening to my Daddy occasionally talk about being in the service. Those occasions were very rare so whenever he'd talk, I'd really listen. Once he told about being outside a bunker in Japan. He said planes were flying overhead and he heard a guy yell, "Incoming!" They knew that meant it was imperative to take cover and they did, but some of the soldiers weren't fast enough. They lost their lives in a split second. 

That one word was a very serious warning and one I never forgot. I think my eyes bugged out of my head when he first said it although he didn't say it in a frightening way. I imagined the sounds of aircraft overhead as the warning went out. And imagined how I'd have felt if I'd been right there with him. I'd have been petrified, probably unable to move. No wonder so many soldiers came back from war with post traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD). And when they were freshly home, it didn't take much to set them off- a movement, a noise, the slightest sound.  But soldiers aren't the only ones with PTSD.There are a lot of cancer survivors and people who've experience traumatic events that feel that way, too. Sometimes, when my youngest daughter calls her ringtone literally scares me to death. It's a loud and bothersome tone that quakes me to my core. I keep meaning to change it and keep forgetting, but it really causes me to feel anxious. Some days are worse than others but on the bad days, they go from bad to worse. 

This morning started out that way for me. After waking at 5 a.m., I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, wandered to the kitchen turned on the coffee maker and waited for my cappuccino to brew. While that was going, I pulled an egg white delight from the freezer. I wasn't in the mood to cook and that frozen sandwich was not only going to be a quick fix, but a tasty one at that. While I enjoyed breakfast, I glanced through emails and made a "to do" list. No big deal, right? But before I put my pen down, my phone began to send one notification after another. Emails, news apps, and texts started alerting me to the fact that something or someone needed my attention. It was not what I expected and immediately, I began to feel anxious. After several more texts came in, I decided enough was enough. I was not going to let that phone order my day. I stood and with feet planted firmly refused to go over and see who had texted. Instead, I yelled across the room to Siri asking her to read my text messages. After hearing that none of them were important, I decided I was going to do something to exert a little control over my day.  I flipped my phone to silent and walked away. 

Those constant pinging, dinging, and chiming noises irritate and antagonize me. I get so tired of all the stuff I am supposed to pay attention to. I've done my best to distance myself from social media. In the past, I'd spend hours trying to keep up with everyone's news but that became exhausting. Now I only check it once in the morning, once at midday and then after dinner.

Maybe it's just a "me" problem. Maybe I'm just getting too old to multi-task well any longer or maybe I just don't care. It might even be a little of both! In any event, I think it's important to do something when we realize our things are causing undue stress. 

There's a great feature on your phone and if you haven't found it yet, you need to employ it - the DO NOT DISTURB feature. You can set time limits for your benefit and you can set auto responses so your loved ones don't think you've been kidnapped or kicked the bucket. I have an iPhone and it's become one of my most used features. I don't know if Androids have it but if not, I'm sure they have something similar. 

Take back control of your life and remember, you have the power to squelch the noises. If incoming alerts freak you out, take shelter and protect your sanity. It's not worth it to allow those things to continue to bombard your life!

Hooray for Hemp!

So much has happened since my last post and I keep telling myself that I'm going to work on that. I've been meaning to post more often but honestly, I've just been busy! Maybe in the future that will change but I'm not promising anything, mind you.

One of the best things that's happened since my last post was visiting the cancer treatment center and having a good heart to heart with the naturopath. We discussed my back pain and the post cancer PTSD and came to the conclusion that CBD oil might be worth a try.

I was surprised when the doctor even handed me a printout of recommended brands and dosages. He even knew of a shop right here in my home town that sells exactly what I needed. As I left the hospital, I was both excited and nervous. I wanted to try the CBD but wasn't sure if it would work for me.

When I arrived at the local distributor's shop, there were no products on display so I wasn't sure what I was going to be getting. I handed the printout from my doctor to the shop owner and she pulled the exact products the doctor had suggested. The first one was a CBG oil. I wasn't sure if that was correct and thought there'd been a typo but, as it turns out, Cannabigerol is a component of CBD. The doctor recommended I use the CBG during the day and that I use CBD at night.

I was shocked by the cost of each 1 ounce bottle. The CBG was $73 and the CBD was just under $100. If I decide to do this on a monthly basis, it could get quite expensive and insurance doesn't cover CBD oil.

Taking the tinctures home, I took my first dose after dinner. I didn't notice anything that day.

The following day, I took one dose of CBG right after breakfast and another mid day. I took the CBD that evening before bed. I was happy to find that I hadn't noticed back pain all day and usually, it kept me from doing many of the things I wanted to do. When I took the CBD just before bed, I slept like a rock. I hadn't had a good night's sleep in over 2 years!

Since those first initial days, I've found good results. I've been taking the tinctures for almost a month now and I'm planning on continuing. I've tried to find information online and compare prices but it's been a little overwhelming. There are so many companies out there and you just really have to do a lot of research to find out whether the companies are reputable  and have a quality product or if they're bogus.

I may end up going the medical marijuana route when I visit with the oncologist next month. We'd talked about it and discussed the need for a medical registration card in my state. I'll keep you posted on that. In the meantime, if you're interested in trying CBD oil, I'd suggest you try it. There are a few companies I'd recommend to you:
https://flowerchildcbd.com/
https://bluebirdbotanicals.com/
https://www.hempworx.com/
https://www.wellspringcbd.com/cbd-capsules/medterra-cbd-gel-capsules/

All that stress for nothing

If you've ever had to wait for the results of a medical test, you know how nerve wracking it can be. You sit by the phone waiting for it to ring so you can pounce on it and pray your ears work well enough to hear clearly what the doctor is saying. You feel like you can't even run to the restroom for fear of missing that important call, especially when the doctor is going to call on your house phone and your house phone is hard wired instead of portable (yeah, I'm one of those rare folks who still have a land line, don't judge me)...

All Thursday evening, I bit my fingernails and prayed. My husband I talked out every possible scenario and hashed out how we would handle each one. If the ultrasound showed cancer, I had to decide if I was willing to go through chemo or not. The first time with cancer it was easy to refuse chemo, the second time around would probably be much harder. We hoped I wouldn't have to go there. I didn't sleep a wink that night. I tossed and turned all night long, wondering and worrying. I knew I wasn't supposed to worry. In fact, I have a huge Hobby Lobby stencil right above the dresser in my bedroom that says, "Don't worry about anything, pray about everything." I look at it every single night before I go to bed. I put it there purposely to remind myself not to worry but sometimes, I worry anyway. I'm human and worrying comes easily to most of us.

Friday morning, after a fitful night, I got out of bed early, got my shower and got dressed. I knew the phone was going to ring soon and I wanted to be ready. The office opened at 9:00 a.m. so I knew I had a couple of hours before the doctor would call. I grabbed a quick breakfast and went into my office to sit by the phone. While I waited, I surfed the internet, wrote a few letters, and edited some photos. Hours passed and no phone call. The medical office takes a 2 hour lunch break from 12 to 2 each day so I figured I wouldn't get a call during that time. I ran into the kitchen and whipped up a sandwich. I brought my lunch back to my desk and ate while I continued to wait. At 2:45 p.m. I was getting a little tired of waiting so I called the doctor's office and explained my situation. Immediately I was put on hold and at 3:00 p.m. the Endocrinologist came on the line. She apologized profusely and then got down to business.

I listened intently as she explained my T3 hormone level was very low. She asked if I'd ever been put on medication for that. I told her I hadn't but I had been taking Synthroid since I was 15. She also mentioned some other blood levels that were low and when I sighed heavily, I guess she figured she'd better tell me my ultrasound results. I was pleasantly surprised when she said, "WE FOUND ABSOLUTELY NOTHING THERE." But in the next minute, I wanted to reach through phone, grab her around her scrawny little neck and choke the life out of her! Why in heaven's name did she word the phone message she'd left on my voicemail in such a way that it scared the Beejezus out of me??? I told her I was expecting something really bad because of the message she'd left. She asked me what she'd said because she couldn't remember and I told her she'd said she was only calling because of the extenuating circumstances surrounding my case and blah, blah, blah... She laughed and said, "Oh, well, I meant because of all the terrible errors that have been made regarding your care on your last 3 visits." Oh brother! She could have explained it a little better then. (The Endocrinologist that called was new in the practice. She'd been called in to take the place of another doctor who'd left the practice abruptly because of the poor management and the horrible treatment to the patients. In the absence of the first doctor, my case had fallen through the cracks and one unfortunate event after another had taken place.)

Dr. J explained I'd need to be seen again in 4 months and they'd want to test me for Cushing's disease. I kindly explained I wasn't ever going to be returning to their office, but thank you very much. I'd already decided to return to my excellent Emory Endocrinologist even if it meant driving over an hour to get to her office. I knew the kind of attentive care Dr. D had given me in the past before I'd moved away from the Atlanta area and I knew she was 1000 times better than any of the doctors at the Endocrinology Center close to my current home.

Dr. J was sympathetic and told me she completely understood. She said she would do the same thing if the shoe was on the other foot. That made me feel better and I explained I had nothing against her but the practice where she worked was a joke. I told her I'd worked for doctors for years and I'd never seen any office treat patients the way they treated theirs and it was inexcusable.

When I told my husband the good news, we both cried. I'd finally had time to process the fact that this was in fact, the best news I could have received...NO CANCER! If only I could regain all that wasted time and energy I'd spent worrying and waiting, but what's done is done.

I have a propensity toward worrying when I'm in my flesh but I know it's not the right thing to do. When I try to shoulder cares or concerns, I'm in essence telling God I don't trust Him to handle them for me and I have learned full well that HE IS VERY CAPABLE and HE IS THE ONLY ONE who can truly handle them.

Hopefully I won't have any more cancer scares any time soon. They are no fun! I'm so glad that phone call is out of the way. Now I can get back to living again.

Piedmont hospital, my home away from home

Time to visit my old friend, Piedmont Hospital again. Today it will be for a complete head to toe bone scan. I've been having a lot of spine and hip pain lately. The oncologist wants to do some testing to make sure the cancer hasn't returned. It's funny how cancer always seems to be lurking in the shadows ready to jump out at me at any given moment. I'm always on guard and I don't like feeling that way. I wonder if other cancer patients feel the same way. It's an eerie feeling, one you can't shake.

The lead tube housing the injection

At 2:00 p.m. I went to the Nuclear Imaging Center for my injection of radioactive phosphorous fluid. The injection is housed in a lead casing to protect the workers. When the radiology tech came out with it. My eyes immediately went to the radioactive symbol. I remember seeing that same symbol on the fall out shelter signs in elementary school in the early 60s. I thought of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The images of children on the front page cover of Time magazine with their skin hanging off their bones was fresh in my memory...nuclear fall out, radiation sickness...uggghhh! Shaking my head, I made myself jump back to reality as the technician was applying the alcohol swab to cleanse my arm. I watched him as he carefully wiped my arm and let it dry for a few minutes. There on the counter beside me lay the lead tube containing the injection. It looked ominous.

The tech opened up the lead tube and readied my arm to receive the injection. A bright orange tourniquet was placed above the crease in my elbow. (I'd reminded him earlier it was important for him to only use my left arm because of the lymphedema.) I prayed he'd find the vein quickly. For some reason I'm the one with the tricky veins and usually end up being poked and prodded until a willing vein jumps up. I watched as he overshot the vein and had to draw the needle back to make contact. As he was working, he said he'd been doing this for 23 years. He was a medic in the U.S. Army. I thanked him for his service as he finally made contact. Blood leaked out of my vein onto my skin and he quickly swabbed it up and depressed the plunger on the syringe. I watched as the radioactive liquid swirled into my vein. I was instructed to leave the hospital and drink large quantities of water.

At 5:00 p.m. I returned to the hospital. I'd taken an anti anxiety pill around 4 because I knew it was going to be challenging to be in that tight space for over an hour. I hated being claustrophobic. (I'd never suffered from that in the past, only recently after having been trapped in an elevator for several hours.) When I lay down on the scanner table, the tech took a draw sheet and wrapped it over me tying up my arms tightly. I didn't like the feeling of being restrained. The tech told me it was to keep my arms in proper position for the scan. I closed my eyes and tried to relax as the heavy equipment lowered over my body. I was tempted to look but didn't want to because I knew the machinery was just an inch or two from my face. Using my imagination, I placed myself on the beach. I began listening for the shore birds and lapping water. I felt myself melting into the imagery and almost falling asleep. Before I knew it, the test was complete and the tech was raising the scanner as I moved out from under it.

I sat on the edge of the scanner bed and got my bearings. The tech asked if I had pain in my hip, leg, and foot. I wondered why he was asking this. Did he see something concerning in those areas? I had already mentioned my spine and hip pain but had not mentioned the shin and foot pain. I knew he was forbidden to share any medical information with me because the radiologist had yet to read the films. I dismissed his questions and left for home.

I'll have to wait until Monday or Tuesday for the results of the scan. I hate waiting. I'm concerned because I don't want anything to show up but then again, if there's something that needs to be addressed, I'd rather it show up now and know we can get on it right away. If cancer is evident, I'm going to have to do a lot of praying about my treatment options. I don't want to have to do chemo but I will if I have to. I'm going to rely heavily on my oncologist's opinion.

Tomorrow I celebrate 2 years of being in remission. I am excited about that. I didn't really celebrate my first year of being in remission because I was afraid to celebrate. It was too soon. But this year, I'm ready. We have a family dinner planned and then will come back to the house for dessert. I'm so thankful to still be here.

© bonnie annis all rights reserved.