CT and little tears

The outpouring of support on Facebook, the phone calls, texts and for the blog have been uplifting. Overwhelming would suggest that it is difficult and the only difficulty I’ve had is the feeling that everybody should get the chance to have this much love showered on them- but without the Cancer part.

I am sitting here in my bed with the dog rolled up in a ball beside me, my mouth still has the taste of the ‘selenium’ - the contrast liquid for the CT scan.

The day started early, we were lucky enough to be booked into High River Hospital so my Mom and Dad accompanied me. I haven't seen them since Friday and these past 5 days seem like a month! I was able to catch up with my Mom while I spent 2 hours drinking 4 litres of a pretty much tasteless liquid, I think the aftertaste is from the injected version.

When I was well and full bloated it was time to go in, I took advantage of the unlimited hot blankets- mmmmmm. Just before I went in I was wrapped up in a brand new hot towel and after a cheerful morning of chatting I had a sudden picture of snuggling with the kids in bed. Well, then came the waterworks. Instead of trying to choke them back I just sat in observer status, let them fall while I changed into a gown, cut the feather out of my hair, put on an attractive hair cover and while I laid and had the IV started. The technician went about her business, with me but not saying anything, and I believe she may have wiped a tear too. While I was laying on the table, head in the machine, I looked at the fact that the tears were like watching a movie- so programmed for those emotional musical flashbacks. I realized that the sadness was about being ‘gone’ - losing the good times, losing the people. No judgement, but truthfully one of several possibilities and not a foregone conclusion by any means.

Just watching and not stuffing (my normal approach) proved to be useful, as I sit here now and think of the same scene I do not have the same reaction at all, I feel calm and peaceful. I also realized that this moment in the warm blanket was perhaps one of the few moments I have been alone since Thursday. 12 years ago when I went through this I would ONLY cry when I was alone: Here is a poem from that time-


Silent Screams

Silently screaming behind doors of the bathroom stall,
And impossibly heavy, fire resistant doors into the
Hospital washroom.

Silently screaming in the back room with the efficient nurse,
Nodding while the drone of probable and possible side effects
Make you consider that there are things
Worse than dying

Silently screaming when they say-
It’s all about your attitude,
How could this happen to you or
Don’t worry – you’ll be fine.

Silently screaming while the student digs
For a vein and appears
Scared to death
Knowing your diagnosis and trying to put this
Together with the fact that you are the same age.

Silently screaming the 2 million times a
Day when you register and re-register the fact
That you have Cancer

Behind the bathroom stall and
Fire resistant doors, toilet flushing,
Water running--
Why can’t anyone hear me?

So - this time, I am not taking that same approach- the good suffering no longer serves me.

The rest of the test went without incident, hold your breath- now breathe- repeat. The IV contrast makes you warm and fuzzy, a strange feeling but not a terrible side effect.

The rest of the day was uneventful and now we sit and wait to hear about results- we already know that it has been named as a B-cell Lymphoma but waiting to hear what stage. It doesn’t really make any difference to me at this point.

I am definitely feeling the positive effects of all the energy work, healing circles and prayers. Glad to have such a big posse in this.