Scanxiety
Aside from a kidney stone in college and a couple of stitches growing up, I have always been fairly healthy. Visiting the doctor for annual check-ups was really just a precaution and never came along with any fear of what my exam or bloodwork may reveal. In fact, I kind of enjoyed it since medicine is something I have always been interested in. That all changed in January of 2014. An X-ray of an achy knee resulted in a rare bone cancer diagnosis.
Since then, I have had MRI's, CT scans, X-rays, bone scans, biopsies and blood work. I wish I could say that visiting the doctor for a check up was as casual as it once was. I have gotten to know radiology techs and nurses and studied their expressions as they came to let me know the exam was over. All to try and gauge if a suspicious mass was seen in the images. Days would go by before the results were available for my surgeon to review at my follow up appointment. As I waited to be called back from the waiting area, I contemplated what news I would get during my visit. I overanalyzed every expression the sweet PA made as she called my name from the office door. Which room would they put me in? My stomach would sink each time she took me to the same room where I first heard I had cancer. Room #13 ( my favorite number) had always brought me good news... until the day it didn't. The day I found out my cancer was back, the sweet PA could hardly look me in the eyes. She told me none of their patients had received good news that day. I could sense the despair in everyone's eyes. My surgeon, his nurses, everyone felt as defeated as I did in that moment.
Happier visits with clean scans meant celebratory ice cream cones from the deli downstairs and champagne at our favorite tapas bar. It meant a sign of relief and restful sleep. This cycle has continued for years. Filled with some combination of hope, fear and anxiety each time. I used to think I just wasn't strong enough and I needed to stop being afraid. I thought that with time, going in to get the results of my scans would be like going to the grocery store to pick up a loaf of bread. Sliding my CT images onto the register counter "I don't have cancer anymore right?" "Great, just checking! I'll have $20cash back please."
>What I know now is that it's just not that simple and it likely never will be. The fear of recurrence is natural and fear does not equal weakness. Just because I feel fear does not mean I do not have faith. I know that I have the right to have complicated feelings about what I have been through and so do you. Did you think William Wallace was not afraid during the battle of Braveheart?
