picture day

today jimnerd turned 26. he enjoyed a birthday weekend of sorts, with girlfriend in town, dinner on saturday night, gift giving last night along with a tasty rendition of grandma's orange chiffon cake for dessert. today he found his cubicle at work filled with crumpled up paper, he spent some time playing with his new gifts, and he is probably downstairs right now, enjoying some leftover cake. or maybe not. sometimes he skips dessert. which is only one of the ways we've become more and more alike as we've gotten older. this birthday for him strikes me on a personal level not typically associated with birthdays. i find myself even more pensive than on my own passed birthdays. sure, mine have been emotional in the past two years, but this one leaves me thinking even more. and maybe it is selfish, to turn his day into a story about me, but one of the reasons i am glad he had such a great weekend is because inevitably the opening of this week was bringing me more into the news. i had a PET scan today, and once again, tomorrow will bring results. so, while i'd like to only be thinking of him on his day, i am torn and thinking, generally, and with more detail in some cases, about the overarching situation of it all.

i turned 26 two years, three months, and twenty-eight days ago. it was unremarkable. 25 had been a stellar go round the sun. nine months during which i skied at least one day, in three time zones on two continents (that is how i measured true contentment in those days). i bought a couple of bikes. i raced a couple of races. i found out i had cancer. one year, nine months, and four days ago things hiccuped. and i guess what i learned is that i am not in control. i am not calling the shots. back then, before the cancer, i was confused about my lot in life. i didn't know what should come next, what i wanted it to be, or where i wanted it all to happen. i'd like to think i had everything possible going for me - independence, a supportive family, friends all over the country, and a sincere belief that i could do anything i put my mind to, as long as it didn't necessitate an advanced degree or living in new jersey (among other places). i even thought maybe getting the advanced degree was where to go next. but one day lead inexplicably to another and october 24 came, and with it I, aged 26 years, six months, and 24 days suddenly had nothing at all and everything in the world to worry about.

in many ways, i am still stuck there at 26. we could be twins now, that big-brown-eyed brother of mine and me. life spreads out beautifully ahead, and there i am, feeling somewhat stuck despite the time elapsed in between, the beautiful places, the amazing people, the laughter, the sunshine, the snow, the beers, and yes, the hours and days at the hospital. i often talk about, or at least mention progress, and sometimes i've done it in odd ways - an empty lotion bottle, i know. some shrinking tumors. a couple more miles on a bike. that progress is easy to track, if not sometimes (tumors) worrisome. it is the other progress that leaves me feeling a bit stammered, still here, thankfully, trust me, but still in the same boat, albeit with some cancer (i guess i had it then, too) and a different outlook. not being in control is ok with me most of the time. life fills itself in, i have learned, with the people i need and the places i need to go in order for me and my soul to be happy and loved.

but the night before the scan, the night before the results, it is not ok with me, the lack of control. or is it the knowledge of the lack of control? the past six weeks have shown an improvement in my mental state, in my ability to accept my disease and live with it. i have had more moments in the past six weeks where i've forgotten the cancer than i have had in a long time. maybe since january. i can't say i've felt in control, but my new normal has felt, well, normal, finally. but the scans come, as they must, and disrupt me and remind me that despite my 55-mile bike ride on saturday, despite my week of nearly no naps last week, despite the strength i've regained, i am still being treated for cancer. i am still a patient with a frightening disease. in the moments and hours where i remember, fully, what i am up against, i am reminded of it all, of being stuck in a way, at 26, unsure of it all in a different way this time.

i just took a shower and it is a wild thing sometimes, to look at my body through the same eyes i looked through ten years ago, five years ago, two years ago, even. i find myself shocked, every single time, to think this thing is inside me. my feet are the same feet, chaco tan and all. my legs have morphed from a runners' to skinny and muscle-less and now moving toward a [slow] cyclist's. my arms, my arms, so skinny, showing no sign of the time spent rock climbing or working outside in the summers other than the freckles at the biceps. my blue veins, the ones the nurses all love, pumping the toxic sludge around every day. i cannot believe this is the same body, my body, and i harbor, in a way, without liking it for a second, this unwelcomed guest.

so tomorrow, six months and one day since i learned that it had come back, i go in to learn what, if anything, it has been doing in the past two months and three weeks since my last PET scan.

and i want the answer, so badly, to be nothing. nothing. nothing. give me my drugs. see me in four weeks. tell me i can ride my bike and the training has not been fruitless.

it would be the best birthday present i could ever give my brother. and if there's anyone who deserves it, even more than me, for so many reasons, it is him.