It’s the night before another set of scans. A new rhythm. Every few months I make a Sunday drive to Houston. I have scans and labs on Monday before getting results from my oncologist on Tuesday. Cancer disrupts old rhythms and replaces them with harder ones.
I generally don’t dwell too much on mesothelioma returning. I know there is a high likelihood of recurrence. I also know I have already lived longer than most. For that I am exceedingly thankful. But the few days leading up to my scans I develop something called scanxiety. It is the feeling of apprehension cancer patients get leading up to their scans. This time the scanxiety is heightened because I know the highest chance of recurrence is 12-24 months after surgery. I am coming up on my one year surgey-versary. And two people from our small meso group died last week.
So, tomorrow I will head over to MD Anderson and have labs drawn. I will then make my way over to the radiology department where I will sit for an hour drinking oral contrast. They will start an IV and eventually slide me into the scanner. The scan itself will only take about 10 minutes and while I am in the scanner a voice will come over the intercom and say three things:
- 1. Breathe
- 2. Now hold your breath
- 3. Breathe
The first time I heard these instructions I thought “Wow, that is how I feel like I am living my life”. Mostly breathing. Sometimes holding my breath.
Tonight, as I think about my scans tomorrow, I am holding my breath a little. If the scans come back positive, cancer will introduce more rhythms. Unwanted rhythms. More breath holding. Not because I am afraid of dying, but because there is still so much I want to do.
In the end, it is not in my control. So I trust the One who gave me breath. The One who creates rhythms. And I try to inhale.
