I finished chemo a few weeks ago.
It was good to be done.
Chemo is designed to kill the cancer, but in the process it makes every other part of your body sick, weak, and ugly.
Weeks later, I’m still feeling the aftershocks.
I’m feeling pretty wobbly and there is an undeniable rumbly in my tumbly.
I’m ready to be able to frolic, dance, and eat loaded chili dogs again.
I’m ready to feel human again…
or maybe, not quite so human?
So…
It’s time to get some answers…
Did the killer cure do it’s job?
Am I healed?
Am I free?
And so…
I went in for a PET scan this morning.
We showed up early at the hospital to fill out the necessary paperwork. Then I was ushered to the back of a semi trailer parked behind the hospital.
We walked through a hallway where some men were painting. One of them pointed at me and said something to his friend in Spanish and then they both cracked up.
Maybe they had never seen a five foot tall, bald man in droopy cargo shorts?
Oh well.
The nurse injected me with a magic drug that makes bad things show up if they are there.
Then I was let out of the truck and left in a small room with a big TV to wait for an hour while the magic drug kicked in.
There was a fight outside my room at one point.
Security was called.
I wasn’t scared.
I was armed with a styrofoam cup full of shaved ice.
After about an hour, I was taken back to the tractor trailer for the PET scan.
It’s a big sterile machine that looks like an ironing board attached to a big plastic and metal donut.
I was told to pull down my pants and lie still for twenty minutes…that seemed a little sketchy.
The ironing board moved back and forward through the donut, the good thing was that I got to listen to some really good music, Elton John and ELO, while I tried to lay still.
Then it was over, I hiked up my shorts and they sent us home.
Right now, we are scheduled to go into get the results on Friday.
THAT IS FIVE FREAKING DAYS FROM NOW!
So suddenly I have NASCAR brain.
My mind is racing!
To be honest, I’m contemplating so many twists and turns. My mind can’t help but to go into overdrive as we wait.
It could cause me to spin out, that wouldn’t be good.
I’ve suddenly traded chemo brain (which is a real thing, people!) for NASCAR brain.
I really need to take a breath and listen to my spotter.
If you are not a NASCAR fan, (I realize that there might be a FEW non-race fans out there) a spotter in NASCAR is a trained team member whose job is to relay information to their driver, keeping them alert of what is occurring on the track. They are typically positioned higher, atop one of the grandstands or other support buildings, to see the entire track.
I have a spotter, it’s the Holy Spirit. He has been with me every mile.
My spotter can see the entire track, he knows what is right around the curve.
He can help me navigate the course no matter what the results are.
I need to ease up on the steering wheel.
I need to take a breath.
I need to listen and trust.
At this point, that is all I can do.
carbonated joy 