I had a CT scan today. Again. It says a lot that I didn’t write a nail-biting post last night, fraught with worries about the potential results of Scan Day. Not only was this something like the 5th time I’ve had my abdomen and chest radiated in a donut machine (which grants me status in the CT Scan Hall of Fame and gives me permission to be all jaded about the whole thing), but I’ve stopped being afraid that I’m dying.
Mostly because I’m not dying.
You probably knew this. I’m not dying. I needed to know it. Now I do.
The guy who put my IV catheter in for the scan was amazing. Big burly dude. He told us that his mother taught him how to start IVs. We shaped our faces into an appropriate amount of “awwww”, and then he followed up with because she was a drug addict. Silence. “At least she left you with a marketable skill?” I stammered. He looked at me and nodded. Then it was time to get up and go into the CT scan room. He held my hand to steady me and walked me all the way to the table. It was really sweet. Kahuna thanked him afterward. Big Puerto Rican softie from Chicago. Probably doesn’t get thanked much.
Just got off the phone with my doctor. No new tumors. Existing tumors are not growing. Repeat. No new tumors. Existing tumors are the same size as the last scan in March. FT fricking W.
On to the next thing. Cancer, get thee behind me!