Two steps forward, one step...???

Hhhmmmm...how do you tactfully express a thought in your mind that is laced with profane images? Such is the result of my most recent CT scan, which revealed 10-15 fingernail sized spots on my lungs. My conscious mind was full of positive thoughts leading up to the scan a week ago last Thursday. I've been feeling fine, my hair is growing back like wild fire, and I've gained over 30 lbs. since my surgery in March of 2005. The problem is cancer is akin to a flame. Relatively harmless until the flame ignites a fire, and the fire ends up destroying a structure. Cancer does the same thing. It slowly breeds until, left unchecked, it will kill you. Period.

My subconscious mind was much more accurate. Something in the back of my brain kept telling me I am far from done. I tried sluffing off these thoughts to a lack of faith, to a fear of who knows what. I'll be fine I kept telling myself. I'm back working, I feel great, I'm healthy. Yeah, right. Cancer doesn't care how you feel now. It's goal is satanic > destroy you at all costs. As I have mentioned before, I really don't feel fearful, I'm not afraid of dying, but I do worry about the affects of such an event on my children and my wife. Not a pretty picture.

When I received the phone call from my oncologist telling me about the results of my most recent scan, my heart started to race. I know the news is not what I want to hear. Sure enough, the onc calmly explains how the spots on my lungs have reappeared. Have you ever blown up a balloon, only to s-l-o-w-l-y let the air back out? That is exactly what I felt as I was driving my car down the interstate while talking on the phone. After the phone call, I only remember turning the radio off in my car, continuing to blaze down I-85 at 70mph. For the next hour I don't have any recollection of anything I did. My mind was going in different directions, unable to fully grasp the latest news. As I rolled into Charlotte I do remember thinking of what it will be like walking back into the treatment area at the Cancer Center. I literally began to growl out loud like a dog that is getting ready to attack you. The thought of the treatments brings back a rush of emotions, none of them pleasant. I wince everytime I think about it. I get a gag reflex when I walk in the treatment room. The smell reminds me of the all-to-familiar nauseous feelings in my gut. DAMMIT. I absolutely despise chemo.

However, I had another life-lesson experience earlier in the week, prior to my phone call from the onc. The CT was on Thursday, which means I should get a phone call on Monday to discuss the scan. I usually leave the nurses a voice mail kindly reminding them that I'm waiting on my results; call me when you can please...but...no phone call until late Monday afternoon. As I reached for the cell phone, I thought it's about time. BIG mistake. The nurse started off by saying they've had a tragic day at the office. One of the physician assistants got a phone call that her husband was critically injured in a motorcycle accident. When she arrived at the hospital, he was already dead. Suddenly my scan results don't mean a thing; this woman and her young son have lost their husband/father. Just like that, their lives have changed with a blink of an eye. Simple words just cannot explain the grief, the pain, the sorrow of such an event. I don't care how bad you have it, somebody always has it worse than you. Things like this make me think like I'm walking thru life's mine field. Whenever I hear news like this, I feel as if a bomb is exploding near me. The more tragic the news, the louder the bomb. BOOM! This one hit way to close to home. This PA is a great person, she actually makes a trip to the Cancer Center fun. Several months ago she told me how they were buying new wheels for their Mustang, and how her husband loved motorcycles. I've always been a car enthusiast and I love talking about them, so when she strolls in the room I immediately feel better. Her demeanor and compassion are rare in the medical community. She always has a smile on her face, this is spite of her profession and dealing with folks that are knocking on death's door. You know how you try to prep your brain for what you should ask the doctor before your appointment? I always do this prior to seeing the onc or his PA. The funny thing is, when I see the PA, we end up talking about anything mechanical and I pretty much forget about why I'm there in the first place. This reminds me of an earlier blog entry: stop looking into the mirror and start looking out the window. Take the focus away from you and your issues. Be thankful for what you have. Show gratitude. Smile.

Okay, I'm out for now. I have so much stuff in my brain that I can't articulate it right now. I'll flush it out later, it'll be good...I promise. Till next time, B.