The scene in the exam room is always
the same the day of my scan results. Phil sits quietly and holds my hand,
although at times he makes a “clever” joke or comment to break the deafening
silence of the room. I sit and anxiously shake my legs and take deep breaths; I
do not speak at all, unless it is to say that I am scared. We are probably only in the room for a total
of 15 minutes, but it feels like a lifetime. The fear lies in what the doctor
will say, because as we know too well, my test results have the power to change
our lives forever. One would think that
over three years later the fear would subside, but it seems to only grow. The
further I get from my diagnosis, the wearier I seem to become on this journey. I know all too well the wild cards cancer can
throw at any moment, and that thought terrifies me. This past office visit
validated my emotions.
I distinctly
remember my first oncologist telling me that if my three year CT scan came back
clear, I would be at a 99% chance of survival. While I know that I am not a
person who plays well with odds (as I had less than a 1% chance of developing
this cancer so young in the first place), this scan felt like it would be a
turning point in my journey. A chance to
finally breathe a sigh of relief, it at least for just a short time. Unfortunately,
the moment my doctor walked in a little late, with the CT scan in his hand, I
knew something was not right. There
would be no sigh of relief for me at this visit. The doctor sat down, and as
kindly as he possibly could, explained to me that there was a tiny spot on my
liver. As much as we were reassured that
this was probably nothing, they still wanted to do an MRI to further clarify
this spot. Phil grasped my hand tightly
as we were dealt this blow, I could hardly breathe, and the lights went out
again on our future together.
The rest of
the visit was a complete blur, the doctor left the room, and we then scrambled
to try to get the test done that day. The first three hospitals had no
availability and I began to panic at the idea of having to wait all weekend
before we knew anything. Luckily, St.
Luke’s had a spot open for us later that day.
Phil and I went home, I went to lie in bed, close my eyes, and try to
not let fear get the best of me. I felt
defeated, and I sobbed at the thought of a changed future and the limitations
it may have. What were we going to do if
this test came back as positive for metastatic cancer? I began to pray, and as
I did I started to give my fear over to God.
I realized that through this entire journey I have been relying on God’s
Grace, and I was not going to stop now. I again gave my life over to God, and
prayed that He stay with me no matter the outcome.
After
arriving at the wrong building, and then waiting for orders to be faxed, I was
finally able to go in for my MRI. The test
itself takes about 30 minutes, and it involves being smooshed into a large
machine that makes loud noises. I never
realized I was slightly claustrophobic until they started to put me in the
machine, and for a brief moment, I really did not know if I could go through
with it. I somehow made it through, and
we then drove home in silence, as we both knew the reality of the situation. Phil
and I debated putting something on Facebook for everyone to see, but in the end
we decided to because we needed prayers, and we needed them right then. We were home for less than an hour when we
got the call, there was nothing seen on the MRI, my liver was completely
clear. Prayers were answered yet
again.
It took a
while for me to process the news, we went from being told I may have metastatic
cancer to everything is fine in one day. It felt like it was all just a bad nightmare
and I wanted to pretend like the day never happened. Unfortunately, part of my journey is to
struggle with cancer. I do not always
understand why this hand was dealt to our family, but I know that faith has
gotten us this far, and it will continue to see us through. It is by God’s
Grace that I am here today, and He will continue to light my path, no matter
where it may take me.
For we walk by Faith,
not by sight. 2
Corinthians 5:7
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