Honestly, I am not sure why I opted for this test. The results won’t change much either way. Either I have brain metastasis or I don’t. Either I have cancer in my brain or I don’t. Either way, we go forward in healing.
I think I might work harder at the healing though if I knew this cancer thing was Really Serious. Not that it isn’t already Really Serious, but sometimes I forget. Like when I feel okay or mostly okay, and I’m laughing at something my Kahuna said, and I think to myself, Maybe I was just imagining all that cancer stuff. It really isn’t all that serious. Terminal? What are they talking about? That can’t be me.
Some people do not like having MRIs. You lie down on a padded sled with a warm blanket over you. If you are having your head examined (I grew up having people tell me I should do this, so it was really only a matter of time), then you get padding stuffed around your head to keep you from moving much. Then you get a cage with 2 mirrors in it placed over your face. In one mirror you see your eyes. In the other you see your feet. The possibilities of thought when glancing from eyes to feet is nearly endless.
While I was lying comfortably inserted in a metal tube listening to clanks and clunks and whirrs from the tube around me, my Kahuna was in the waiting room waiting and dealing with papers and forms and signatures. He is good at that sort of thing, being my advocate and bulldog. When we were done, we went home. I think my Kahuna had it harder than I did. I lay under a warm blanket listening to clanks and clunks and whirrs while my Kahuna had people reminding him I am eligible for all sorts of government services because of my, you know, condition. Terminal. He told me that after we left the hospital and we stood, holding hands, looking out over the view of the harbor and the islands beyond.