Beware–A Cancer Story
Sorry for the two-fer today. The other one was scheduled, this one I have to get out, or the rest of my day will be spent in bed–hiding under the covers.
I have made many conscious decisions. Decisions to become mentally healthy. I’m practicing mindful thinking, and trying to show compassion and kindness.
But my stinkin’ subconscious mind is a freakin’, annoying monkey. It’s the critter that eats away at my confidence. All my accomplishments are picked upon by my subconscious, until I cry.
If I’m so mindful, then why do tears fall so easily? Shouldn’t I know the root cause of the tears.
I ask myself a series of questions if I have a negative emotional reaction to something. It helps me deal with what is fact, and what I have distorted in my mind. While trying to answer the questions, eventually I find the source.
I have two weeks until my next CT scan. Three weeks to receive the results. Underneath all my actions lurks fear. My abilities to keep my mind busy, plan for the future, desire to knit, or take photographs is marred by fear.
Tomorrow, May 31, should have been my third year of being able to say, “yay! no evidence of disease!”. Due to some screw ups while changing oncologists, I had a change in my regular scheduled 6 month scans. Which I didn’t mind, because I didn’t like all the pressure around Christmas, worrying about my scan results.
Through hard work with my therapist, I learned how to tame the fear over my health. I actually did pretty well with the last scan. I was so confident, I didn’t take my babysitter with me.
Then they found something worthy of short-term followup. Which meant another scan, and the wait for the results.
For the last three months, the thoughts that have run through my head have gone like this:
I’ll keep growing my hair so that if I have to have chemotherapy, they can use my hair to make a wig when I lose mine.
Will I always be a baby about my health, or will I learn to take care of myself? Will I ever be able to distinguish between what I have control of, and what I don’t?
Will I still be courageous? Happy? Have my sense of humor?
What is all that radiation I have to endure, doing to my body? Is it making my chances of recurrence worse?
What if there was one microscopic-rogue-mutant-gene that they missed during surgery three years ago?
I have these fears, but I intend to live well into my 90’s. I want to be one of those ladies on television celebrating their 110th birthday–but let me assure you, I will have some sort of teeth in my mouth!
I intend to see great-grandchildren, after watching my three children get married and have children of their own. After all, I have a whole bunch of stories to tell them. 😀
I expect to have four more rounds of cats. Only, I will keep it to two cats at a time, for the sake of my marriage.
I will knit thousands and thousands of miles of yarn, maybe even learn to spin my own.
One day I will photograph something and feel it is worthy to actually hang on the wall with pride.
I just have to keep talking to myself to make sure I don’t worry over something that is not a fact. I was successful with that way of thinking as long as I had clean scans. It’s a different monkey when there is something to be concerned about.
However, I have to let the fear escape. I’m only human, and the more I contain the fear, the more it festers.
And, seriously, I’m scared.