Six weeks are finally up. I had my picture re-takes in the MRI tube yesterday--this time with perfusion to see whether anything is acting like tumor progression.
After the first set of scans I had to wait in the tube while the radiologist looked at them to pinpoint the areas to focus on during the perfusion run. The wait was longer than expected because it was a busy day, and my scans had to wait their turn in line. The technician went overboard to make sure I was okay with this. Some patients, he said, were crying and worrying that their delays meant something bad was going on. I was fine, I assured him.
Tuesday is when I will meet with my doctor to find out how things look, and it still seems like an eternity away. I've had many people ask me how I can stand waiting that long to hear whether I have good news or game-changing news. Some have commented that it is barbaric to leave patients in suspense over something like this. And it kind of is. But it may be the way things have to be right now, so I just try not to think about the new films that will sit in my ever-expanding tote bag until Tuesday. And I'm handling the wait just fine.
I have the familiar feeling of being surrounded by the prayers of so many family members and friends. Even though I have no idea what to expect on Tuesday, I'm feeling very calm, with a constant picture in (what's left of) my mind of the many faithful people who have been praying for me. I know that each one of those prayers is heard.
My husband and I spent yesterday evening in the temple. It's a place where silly details like cancer are relegated to their proper place in the big picture of things. A place of peace and even more prayer.
I slept remarkably well last night, which is rare even during non-eventful seasons of my life. And I awakened this morning to an immune-boosting laugh, courtesy of my son.
He woke up early and came into our room. I peered at him and said, "Hey, Jake, why don't you make us some breakfast?" He wisely pointed out that he was not old enough to cook by himself. (A lesson he learned while trying to microwave oatmeal without any water when I was in his sister's room.)
"That's right," I replied. Never wanting to miss a vocabulary lesson, I continued with, "You may only cook in the kitchen with SUPERVISION. That means when an adult is helping you."
He gave me a perplexed look, and then said, "No, Mom. It means when you can see through things."
As in SUPER-vision. Like Superman.
I'm sure I laughed hard enough to add substantial time to my life.
He saved me again this afternoon, giving me a proud moment as he earned his green belt in karate. Those coaching moments before he went in for a grueling 90-minute physical challenge were priceless. So was watching him realize the accomplishment he worked so hard for. Gotta stay around for more of those moments.
My daughter helped, too. I handed her a clean pillowcase today and asked her to put it on her pillow. Having never done this before, she quickly became frustrated. "I can't do it, Mom," she wailed. It was another teaching moment about avoiding discouragement. As expected, she worked at it and finally figured it out. It's a seemingly small victory, but not for a three-year-old. Gotta stay around for more of those moments, too.
Faith and family. Prayer and laughter and precious moments with a karate belt and a pillowcase. A small sampling of the stuff that keeps me going until Tuesday's verdict...and beyond.