Every three months I go to MD Anderson for tests and scans for check ups and make sure that the melanoma is stays stable or gone. Gone is always preferred of course. The days leading up to each appointment are filled with hope, anticipation, anxiety, and fear among a million other emotions. One set of scans, one appointment can either bring tremendous relief for the next three months or great fear and worry. I began my 6 hour round of appointments optimistic and eager to get it over with for the day. Waking up at 4 am, gulping down a supersized drink of sprite and barium, being poked with needles multiple times, breaking out in hives from the ct scan contrast, and my favorite having a mask put over your face and going in a tube for half an hour where there is no way out and no movement for the brain MRI. All of these are parts that I dread each time but make the best of it and tell myself to make it through each one. If I can do that I’ll treat myself with a snowcone or other special treat.
This week I went in for my test and scans. I made it through each part of the tests that I force a smile and hope it ends soon. A good clean scan is worth it. The last six months had yielded clean scans in my lungs and three brain tumors that remained stable. I was not in the clear, but on the right path and the worst was behind me…until this week. The nurse assistant came in before the doctor and told me the news like ripping off a bandaid and then left the room. You have a new tumor in your right lung and a larger tumor in your liver. One brain tumor is gone and the other two are stable. Oh but don’t worry, I’m sure the doctor will put you back on immunotherapy with other drugs. With that she left. I sat in shock for a minute trying to process before breaking down in tears. I couldn’t believe that after the hell I endured this past year with immunotherapy that it was a strong possibility that I’d be back on it again with chemo pills. I had not feared the cancer coming back a third time because the new medicine was supposed to teach my body to fight the cancer cells for the rest of my life. What the heck happened? Did it stop working? A million thoughts raced through my head when the doctor came in. What was I going to do? Am I going to go through that hell again? Am I going to live? He looked at me and saw my tear stained cheeks and immediately gave me a hug and told me not to worry and not to cry. Telling a cancer patient not to cry is kind of a tough thing to do. There’s so many emotions that put you on an endless rollercoaster. The plan and next steps were outlined. Watch all areas for now, come back in three months for another set of tests and scans. If the tumors grow or multiply then they’ll put me back on the immunotherapy IV I went through last year and also chemo pills. They’ll also do a biopsy on the liver tumor if there’s continued growth. So waiting game for three months. Three months of terror and uncertainty were staring me in the face.
Like a lot of people, I like to be in control. I like knowing what’s going to happen and when. The problem is that this is completely out of my hands and I have no control. After the initial shock and processing comes the reframing and refocus. What can I do, what is in my control? My attitude and mindset are the biggest things. Taking some time to reframe and refocus I’m choosing to make the decision to remain in the present moment. I know the path and steps that may or may not come, but obsessing and worrying about it won’t help and in fact it’ll make me miserable for the next three months. Instead, I’m going to return to enjoying the little things that make everyday worth it. We tend to focus on those for a moment then the list of things to do and stress of everyday life returns and so many things are taken for granted. I learned yesterday that I can’t ever take one clean scan for granted, it’s never a given no matter what. I can take time to enjoy the present moment. I can go on bucket list vacations. I can slow down and choose to have fun and laugh. I choose to be at peace and enjoy the present moment. I choose to live my life.
Courageous Perseverance 