no cavities, at least

there's an australian man trapped in the ct machine that scanned me today. i wouldn't want to be trapped there, and i certainly wouldn't want to be exposed to all that radiation. oh, shit, guess i messed that one up with all the radiation i was exposed to in march and april. the australian man tells me when to "take a deep breath and hold it" and when i "may resume breathing normally". and in the seconds that elapse between commands, a lifetime unfolds in front of my eyes. i am walking through "the woods" on a fall day with mom and jim, my small steps scurrying through the leaves. i am in middle school english class writing an essay. i am playing basketball in the summer, the smell of the gym alive and vibrant. i am sauntering down the street in state college on a lovely spring afternoon, running into friends and making plans for later that evening. i am skiing in a foot of fresh utah powder. i am sitting in a chair being served my chemo. i am soaking my feet in the lake last weekend. seconds, only, but a lifetime all at once. it rushes through my mind just as the contrast rushes into my veins and makes me hot and tricks me into thinking i've wet myself and gives me a bad taste in my mouth and of course makes my most intimate insides, my lungs, the inside of my lungs, my lymph nodes, and all the organs in my abdomen... they all become visible to the machine and the technician operating it and saving the information for the radiologist to review later in the day. the truth has already been told to that one person, maybe the nurse that injected me as well, but i won't know for a couple of days, 48 hours. i'd rather hear it in person, from my doctor. but then again, maybe instant gratification would be good instead. i can't have it, so i have to settle for 48 hours. which i am fine with, really. it gives me time for other things, like dentists.

the last time i saw my dentist was the day before i starte chemo, november 6, 2006. he was drilling apart a cavity and filling it with rancid smelling porcelin. even after all the horrible smells of chemo - iv tubing, saline taste/smell, coffee, broccoli, bacon... the filling material is still my least favorite smell. the nice thing about today was i didn't have any cavities. i had some plaque building up in spots but other than that my teeth are hard, clean, and white. i am so freaking happy i don't have to get a needle jammed in my mouth and a cavity drilled. i hope my teeth are ready for a whole lot of smiling. i hope i am doing a whole lot of it in a couple of days.



to say i'm not nervous would be a big, fat bold-faced lie. i'm scared i just got this delicious taste of "normal" and i might have to leave the all-i-can-eat buffet once again. i know bad news doesn't necessarily mean it is the end, that it just means more. more of what, i don't know. i haven't gotten that far. i don't want to go that far. but i can't pretend to be blissfully unaware that there in fact is a chance it might not work the way we think it is going to. and by we, i mean a whole lot of people. people who have been fighting along with me, proping me up when i need it and making me laugh and letting me cry. an army. it takes a freaking army to do all this and i don't forget for even a second that is the case. i'd just like to keep the army on reserve... i would like to be empty, devoid of that damn cancer and eating up the good, everyday life, life. not that it wasn't good when i was fighting... it was indeed. it was just different.

so that's enough of that, for now.

in other news, there's a hole in the front yard here at chez moms and pops and there's a big freaking egg in it. the hole is about a foot deep and the egg is about four inches long and white. i want it to be a dinosaur but i think it might be a turtle. there is also a vote for it being a hawk's egg. or maybe it will turn out to be an australian. what do you think?