All My Fear Came Back
“As I think about it, I realize that maybe the cancer is playing with me. I was getting pretty cocky, talking about how we had killed all the visible tumors in my body... all the cancer had to do was say, 'Boo!' And all my fear came back.”
The following essay is from the NPR My Cancer weekly podcast:
I have to admit, my head is still spinning after last week. It all started with an MRI Tuesday. For those of you who have never had one, it's a very strange experience. You lie in a big tube, your head and body immobilized, and you are bombarded by really loud and very strange noises. Those are the magnets in the machine. Clicks and bangs and buzzers, all at full volume. The first time you go through one, it's a little disconcerting.
After a while, though, like everything else, you get used to it. I dozed off through most of this last one. But all the while, the machine is searching. Looking and prying, trying to see the tiniest piece of cancer that might be hiding in my brain or spine. The MRI lasted about an hour and a half, and then I was done. I tried to get the technician to tell me something. Had she seen anything? But of course, she was totally professional. Which means she told me nothing.
Then the waiting. The scans have to be read by experts, so you usually don't get the results until the next day. And when that phone call came, my heart sank. It appeared that a new tumor had developed on the site of my original brain tumor. That's a common problem. My tumor was removed by surgery, and then I had radiation to clean up the area where it had been, to kill any rogue cells the surgery might have missed. But it's almost impossible to get them all.
But 24 hours later, the world changed again. After a whole team of doctors had looked at the scans one more time, they decided what they were seeing was not a new tumor. It was probably scar tissue from that first operation. So I got a reprieve. The governor called at the last minute. I would not have to go through the gamma knife procedure. That is an amazing machine that focuses radiation as precisely as a laser. They screw your head into a frame -- literally screw it in -- and that hurts. I wasn't looking forward to it.
We always talk about cancer being a roller coaster ride. No kidding. And I feel a little like you do when you first get off a great coaster. My stomach is somewhere up near my throat. My head is spinning. My heart is pounding. It was a helluva ride. But what did I get out of it? I'm not sure. An adrenaline rush, for sure.
As I think about it, I realize that maybe the cancer is playing with me. I was getting pretty cocky, talking about how we had killed all the visible tumors in my body. I was winning my fight. I was starting to think about the future, something I had pretty much stopped doing. And all the cancer had to do was say, "Boo!" And all my fear came back. My world changed, even if it was only for a day. I'm pretty sure there is cancer hiding somewhere in my body, and I'm sure it got a good laugh out of all this. But that's OK. When it does show up for real, when it does get big enough to see, then it will be my turn. This isn't over yet.
4:47 PM ET | 04- 1-2007 | permalink


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