I am waiting on scan results (brain MRI and another test).
The results are in somewhere . . . I just don’t have the results yet . . . because that is how it works. So my family is worried (I understand this) and I am worried too. Welcome to the post-cancer landscape.
I’m trying to be fierce 🙂
It is funny . . . when I went into the imaging center and filled out the routine paper work and answered all of the the routine questions that I always have to answer . . . I couldn’t help but laugh at how this is all now so routine. And yet, it simply is not.
I flew threw the questions, checking the box next to “no” in most cases and then stopped on the question: “Are you claustrophobic” I had to laugh (to myself, mind you . . . I realize the implications of someone laughing out loud while filling out medical forms in the lobby of an imaging center . . . not that I particularly care if strangers think I am a loon . . . this cancer roller coaster does make you a bit loony at times).
I used to be claustrophobic . . . and I suppose on some levels I must still be. But, in the scheme of things – spending 20 to 25 minutes in a narrow tube with a bunch of loud noises – isn’t really that big of a deal. What is a big deal is what the waiting does to my parents . . . waiting, worrying, crying. I feel helpless for them. How can I reassure them? How can I reassure myself?
Sigh. Here is a Tom Petty song that speaks to me at the moment: The Waiting.
So, back to the “routine” questions and paperwork and the “routine” MRI . . .
So what will they do if I were to answer yes to “Are you claustrophobic?” Would they not put me in the MRI tube, not do the imaging that my doc has requested? So I checked no, because it doesn’t really matter how I feel about having the MRI and being put in that noisy tube. What matters is that it has to be done. So I took a deep breath (and a valium) before going in and prayed pretty much the whole time . . . Our Father who art in heaven . . .
I tried counting how many times I could say the “Our Father” all the way through without forgetting where I was . . . I didn’t get past “hallowed be thy name” very many times (MRIs are pretty noisy – despite the ear plugs they have you wear). For me, noise is a big distractor post chemo. But, I think I got through the whole prayer at least a few times. I know my parents prayed and so it goes. We pray and we hope and we wait. And all along I know that someone else out there has it far worse than I do.
So for those of you who have not experienced the joy of an MRI, here is a little bit what it is like. You lay down on a bed of sorts (hardly a bed, but more of a platform that seems to be designed for thin people . . . I’m just saying . . . maybe it is because I went to an imaging center in Newport Beach – the plastic surgery mecha of Orange County). Once you are on this thing, they place a plastic cage like thing over your head (this head gear thing they put over your head looks like something out of “Silence of the Lambs”. I kept thinking “Claaaaaareeeese, Clareeeeeeeeeeeese” . . . yeah, I know, a little creepy). Then they send you on your way into the tube (oh there was also an injection of contrast fluid – which THANKFULLY did NOT require the placement of an IV – WOO-HOO)!!!!!!!!!!!!
So how weird is that to be splitting your time between thoughts of “Silence of the Lambs” and “The Lord’s Prayer”? Odd, I know.
I try to take all of this stuff with a bit of humor. But, unfortunately fears are not very funny; especially the fears of my parents.
So if you would, please say a prayer and/or send some positive vibes my way for me and for my parents.
Thank you so much.
Love and peace,
Lisa
cancerfree2b 
In the immortal words of one of the world’s most mediocre musicians, “The waiting is the hardest part.” Hang in there like a kitten from a tree.
🙂 Thank you . . . exactly what I was thinking.
All the best to you, love the name of your blog!
xo
Lisa
Lisa,
I cannot be objective. My mate was with me for 25 years.5 cancers and a BMT. I sit here now with my family breaking my trust and ex dividing up my will, before I expired And everyone left for good.And my total income is 7k a year.
So I ache for a conversation, a hug. I remember the relapses, I felt like , hey I went through hell and back, I earned this fing life, what do you mean its back?
I will say a prayer for you. I am happy you have family that cares, that is a blessing in its self. Years ago I knew someone whom was in Childrens’ Hospital they told me of children abandoned in the hospital, so I am not the first.
Dear Kathy,
Thank you for the prayer and for commenting here. It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am so sorry for your hardship . . . I can not be objective either . . . but, I can tell you that I will be thinking of you and sending prayers your way. And, I am always up for a conversation and I am sending you a virtual hug.
All the best,
Lisa
I am praying for you and your family amd sending long distance hugs. The waiting and the whole awful thing must be so hard. May it soon be all good news and the headaches, etc. be gone. Much love,
Sally
Dearest Aunt Sally,
Thank you for your continued prayers. I love you.
I am trying to figure a way for me and Mom to come out your way . . .
Much love,
Lisa
I have never been patient, and I am less patient now. Impatient patient.
🙂 “Impatient Patient” . . . I love that 🙂
Thank you for making me smile 🙂
All the best to you,
Lisa
Fingers (toes and eyes) crossed for you.
Thank you so much!
xo
Lisa
UGH…. OK.. I’m sending everything good in your direction….. All good news… ONLY good news….. Lots of love! I have MUCH to catch up on……
AnneMarie
I just got the results from the brain MRI . . . not only do I have a brain . . . there is no evidence of disease!!!
XOXOXOXOXOXOX
Hugs to you!!!
Thank you for sending everything good in my direction! I still have one more test I am waiting on. Hopefully all will be good.
All the best and much love to you!
Lisa