lull in the action

from garfield minus garfield

so many people have expressed such sincere joy, happiness, and excitement at the announcement that my innards showed no sign of cancer in my last round of nuclear imaging. i personally welled up and felt my sinuses burning with emotion when i heard the news. "this is really good news," my doctor said, after i asked her, "what about this fine print on the report right here?" and it is, it is fantastic news.

i find myself, at odd times throughout the days and evenings and even in the middle of the night, talking to the inside of my chest and behind my collar bones. i've grown accustomed to this strange interaction with myself. "you had better stay away", i threaten, trying to sound as mean as possible to the microscopic remnants of my disease. you know, the ones that i'd like to think aren't there but probably are. you see, it is difficult not to think about something lingering silently in there, because in a way, i have been here before. i got here via different means and folks were saying different things when i arrived, but really, after doing the "you don't have cancer - you have cancer - you don't have cancer - you have cancer" dance the last thing i want to feel is that letdown feeling of "you have cancer" again. it is a tough dance step to manage and without fail leaves me feeling like someone just stomped on both of my feet and told me to keep dancing in spite of it.

and i guess that's the thing, i just have to keep on dancing. this morning as i was driving through the horse farms near home, the fog was lifting and the sun was filtering through the trees and through the clouds, creating a surreal effect. often times it is those moments, the ones where i am alone and the world is reminding me how spectacular it is out there, when i am struck by how immense an undertaking this has all been - for me, for my family, for my friends. i'd really like to be finished with it, to move on once again, thinking it is gone for good and we will just keep an eye on it. but i know that can't be the case. and i guess the knowledge that next week i have to march back in and do some more drugs doesn't help me in feeling the total and utter joy expected in response to being told "we don't see anything". it is phenomenal, trust me, and i am happy. but it is guarded a bit, and i think it has to be that way to offer myself a little protection. i don't want to be let down by myself, by my body again. it just hurts too bad; it hurts the people i love. so i smile and am thankful for every day, but i know my fight goes on every single day, too.

it has been a lovely lull in the action and i am glad to have an extra week's respite for a bike ride. it is a great way to celebrate but then it will be time to go back to the fight. not that i ever really left it, i guess i just feel like i kind of did, for a moment or two.