I’ll have some Valium on my pizza please. Maybe a round of anti-acids on the side.
I am a member of a very elite club. One I didn’t choose although it lists some pretty awesome people as members. It’s the breast cancer survivor club.
All is good. I survived but once you have been diagnosed your statistical chance of a recurrence or another cancer is higher than the average person. (However, it doesn’t alter my statistical chance of winning the lottery.)
I am very conscious of this and take all the precautions. The girls go in for a check-up every year. They get squished and pulled and pushed. If I’m lucky that’s the end of it.
Sometimes because of scar tissue, they need an ultrasound to “see better.” If I’m lucky that’s the end of it.
Sometimes the scans are still not clear and an MRI is warranted. If I’m lucky that’s the end of it.
Sometimes the MRI is suspicious and I need a biopsy. If I’m lucky that’s the end of it.
There seems to be a cycle. A few years will be simple, than there will be a year that requires more tests. I don’t know why because the scar has been there for 13 years. I doubt if it’s grown lately.
Whenever this round of extra tests happen, the whole worry thing gets opened up. It took years until I stopped having the 3 a.m. conversations (in my head) on who would get my jewelry and who would take care of my cats.
Just when I have completely compartmentalized it all, it’s an “extra test” year.
Logic doesn’t always reign. I know in my head that the probabilities are good the tests will turn out fine but my heart doesn’t always accept that.
I’m not complaining. The tests are nothing like the treatments and it isn’t the tests that are the issue. It’s the not knowing. A state of suspension. A reluctance to plan events that you may not be able to attend. Sometimes it can take a month to get from first test to the end.
I’ve had enough surgery in my life to know the prep. I need tops that open in the front. Simple clothes that are easy to get on and off because everyone wants to look at the girls. Some treatments need easy access. Some surgeries make it difficult to lift your arms up above your head.
I start shopping. Not buying because I don’t know if I’ll really need them. Just checking what’s out there.
This year I was lucky. I went as far as the MRI and then all was well for another year. That was a two mocha latte day. My celebrations have become very modest.
Historically, I should have a couple of simple years before I need all the tests again. You can bet I’m going to enjoy them.