She's Waiting

By now, I'm pretty familiar with the routine surrounding PET scans and CT scans. I wore a pair of track pants (no zippers or rivets to interfere with the machine), a sports bra (no underwire), no jewelry, and a loose fitting top (the better to push up the sleeves when the IV is inserted). But I didn't count on the wig being a problem (hey, it's HAIR, not a helmet), and, of course (because I never do things the easy way) it turns out there are metal pieces sewn into the side of the cap. Off it came, unceremoniously placed by the tech on my prone body, like a dead ferret. On the up side, I did get compliments on my nice head after the test, although of course how mean are they going to be to the cancer patient ("Wow, you've got the ugliest head we've ever seen, and we've seen some pretty gross ones!").

So I'm (slightly) radioactive for the next 24 hours, ordered to stay away from children and pregnant women (the PET involves getting injected with a nuclear something-or-other for contrast), airports and federal buildings, while I wait for the "glow" to subside.

The scans are what will help determine the next step(s) in treatment. What they are hoping to find is that the tumor in my jaw is shrinking and that there continue to be no other lesions. When I see the doctor on Monday, she will let me know the results (and in the meantime, just in case, I am scheduled for chemo on the 22nd). Stay tuned.

As much as I try not to, my mind relentlessly and restlessly reviews the innumerable permutations of possible futures, as though there is a matrix that determines what is to come for me - "If this, then that, and it means I'll have at least this much time." And just when I think I have successfully put that kind of thinking to bed, back in it creeps. I start spending an inordinate amount of time bargaining with God for more time ("Quality of life my ass! Give me quantity any day!"), trying to make deals ("Just let me see Taryn through 2 years of college - deal or no deal?"), seeking just one more concession ("Yeah, I know I've had 14 years, can't we make it an even 20?"), and laying out my arguments for longer life ("C'mon, can you really picture Warren and Chris running the show here without me?"). What is it they say - if you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans?

And yet, all in all, it has been a good week (well, except for that whole Giants thing - but we won't go there). The house has been de-Christmasized (yeah, a month of snowmen and angels and Santas and reindeer is more than enough). Sandra brought over some yummy soup and let me enjoy her company for a few minutes. Carol and I learned some new Facebook tricks together (thanks to Taryn). I'm feeling well, with a good amount of energy. And best of all - "24" is back on (to the consternation of our children, who call themselves "24-phans" while we are engrossed in watching Jack Bauer save the world again). Ah, the little pleasures of life.

We're up to 50 cents for a head shine - next bidder?