The doctor smiled.
“Everything looks good. No evidence of disease.”
Hubby smiled.
I smiled.
But inside…
someone screamed,
I can’t keep doing this.
It’s just too much.
The celebration lasts about five minutes.
Then they schedule the next scan.
Somewhere around the three-month mark…
the music starts.
And I know it’s time to dance.
I stop trusting my body.
That backache?
Probably from lifting boxes.
Or maybe not.
That pain in my side?
Probably getting older.
Or maybe not.
The dance begins.
First the blood work.
Then the scan.
Then the appointment.
Same building.
Same smells.
Same chairs.
Same people smiling kindly
while my body remembers
the fight of my life.
This isn’t my first time.
I know the steps by heart.
Smile.
Joke with the receptionist.
Tell Hubby I’m sure everything will be fine.
Tell my family not to worry.
Tell myself not to worry.
And hope…
If I say it enough times…
I can believe it.
They warned me the chemotherapy would take my hair.
They warned me it would make me sick.
They warned me I’d be tired.
Nobody warned me that remission would have side effects too.
Logically, I think it through.
The cancer I had was not caught by the blood work.
So I don’t have to worry about that.
Logically, I do the comparisons.
Six months ago a PET scan showed nothing.
A PET scan is more complete than a CT scan.
Therefore, there will be nothing on the CT scan.
I argued my case like a lawyer.
The evidence was solid.
My body objected anyway.
Because the body doesn’t work on logic.
My body remembers what it felt like to hear, “It’s back.”
My heart remembers the panic.
My mind remembers my fear.
And even my tears
can only be held back for so long.
Every clear scan…
costs me
a little piece of myself.
Cancer may be in remission.
Fear remembers every detail.
So for the next two years…
every three months…
I’ll do the dance.
And every three months…
I’ll have to teach my heart
what my CT scan already knows.
I got the news on Wednesday.
“No evidence of disease.”
Today is Thursday.
I’ve cried most of the day.
Not because the news was bad.
Because my heart is finally letting go of everything it carried getting here.
The celebration lasted about five minutes.
In about ten weeks…
the music will start again.
If you know someone living scan to scan…
remember…
they aren’t just waiting for results.
they’re reliving the day their life changed.
Every.
Single.
Time.
-Pattie
Third Act With Pattie 