We interrupt the month’s Whole30ish / resolution programming to bring a positive update on the health front, live from New York City, where MSK’s oncology team has confirmed that my “scans look great!”
Whew.
This marks 2.5 years NED, or halfway to the five years that are typically associated with a patient being “cured.”
You might think that my confidence in being healed grows with each clear scan, but weirdly, it seems to be more complex than that.
These days, any confidence I may have about an upcoming scan is driven almost exclusively by how I am feeling physically. Each of four recurrences were preceded by signals from my body, only recognizable with the benefit of hindsight. The longer I go without thinking about an upcoming scan, the more likely the scan is to be clear.
Monday’s scans were preceded by my forgetting that they were even happening multiple times. In fact, I forgot so completely that I scheduled (then rescheduled) several meetings for that day and didn’t arrange childcare for Jack and Delaney. Thankfully, I have people in my life who are on top of things and have access to my calendar, and they reminded me. But then they had to KEEP reminding me, because I kept forgetting. (!?)
I owe a whole essay on the topic of Scanxiety, which I have come to believe is the ego’s way of trying to protect itself from unexpected bad news. Understanding this has made scanxiety much less emotionally stressful.
Even so, the psyche seems to seek alternate ways to protect itself—so as I feel better emotionally, physically my body shuts down.
Starting about 24 hours prior to a scan, I begin to feel just so tired.
The fatigue takes over my body and brain: all I want to do is sleep and sleep some more. I’ve come to believe this urgency to pass out must be a defense mechanism, protecting me against thinking or stressing about what’s to come.
The day of scans I wake up, do not eat or drink anything, and leave the hotel at 7am to report to scans at 7:45 (which feels an hour earlier to my Midwestern self). I say I will keep an eye on emails and texts, but my ability to process—much less do—anything is severely compromised; so mostly, I don’t try.
This intense fatigue continues until approximately the time that I know results must be in my portal, at which point adrenaline kicks in, adding one more chemical to the mix of radiation and contrast dye that is already coursing through my veins. By the time we are called back to the meeting with my oncologist, I have asked Per approximately 20 times if he has looked at the results in the portal and if he thinks they will be good. He answers patiently, demonstrating all the hallmarks of a great partner when their spouse is starting to come apart at the seams. (No, he has not peeked, yes, he feels good about the scans. Repeat.)
This time, we were called back early, and my oncologist didn’t make us wait: “Your scans look great!” she announced, walking into the room.
I can feel my body slump in relief for just a moment before the adrenaline returns: I am hoping to catch some colleagues at the NY office before they depart to catch a flight—and now I’m conscious of how quickly I can wrap this up and head downtown.
Thus, my adrenaline continues to surge for a few more hours, until we are finally on our way to a 5:15 dinner, which already feels like it comes too late in the day. Per and I have agreed that we will take a break from our anti-inflammatory diet to enjoy our celebratory meal at Raoul’s—which besides steak frites includes a drink, an order of bread, a pasta appetizer, and so, so very much butter.
By 7:30 pm, we are back at the hotel, and I am back in bed, groaning about a too-full belly for the first time in almost a month. Thankfully feeling full does not get in the way of me falling asleep shortly thereafter. I sleep for a full 12 hours and wake up feeling more human, if not actually rested. Despite the Whole30ish transgressions at dinner, I can’t help but note that I feel physically better than I usually do (no NY pizza / less wine / more water / more vegetables?).
The following day, I have cleared my schedule, but there are a dozen urgent things that need my attention added to another dozen I put on the back burner since the prior week. I’m grateful for my team members who have swooped in to handle what they can—and who have protected my schedule across the week knowing I’ll need to catch up and push forward. I decided being in the NY office the day after scans would add to my efficiency, which it did; but that decision exacted its cost, and by midday, I can barely function and need to head back to the hotel to protect any remaining stamina for my flight back.
My thanks go to all of you for powering me through the last few days—those stars make a difference, and I will tap into their energy to get me to the end of this week!*
*I wrote this on Tuesday, only finding time to finish and post it today, due to the usual post-scan catchup process along with an incredibly intense week. Thanks to the delay, I can now confidently report that those stars did their job, gliding a Very Exciting Working with Cancer Project through an astonishing number of hurdles toward a reality I had no business expecting. A friend and I have been joking since New Year’s about our commitment to stay delusional. I’m thinking it may be my mantra for 2025!
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