So it’s time to write this post. The truth is, it’s a post in limbo . . . and I know I should remain the constant optimist and punch back my fears and continue to hope for a miracle, which I am doing, kinda, but I’m also crying about every hour on the hour.
Unfortunately it’s not my style to hold things back. It’s not good for me. Not healthy. Which is why it’s time for this post.
This past week I had the joy of being at a cottage for several days. It’s this amazing place up north a little from Ottawa into Quebec, on a lake called Lac Blue Sea. (I think that’s the name, at least). The cottage we stayed at with my family was amazing. It was clean and mould-free and there were kayaks that my husband and I took out every day, and my mother and I took out together as well. We would paddle into this big lake and then just sit there, floating only a little above the water in what was a beautiful stillness. Loons dipping into and out of the water, fish flipping through the surface, trees guarding the shore . . . it was a slice of heaven.
Then on Thursday my husband and I jumped into the car and headed back to town for what was meant to be a routine oncology appointment. We were shown into the room, and given a seat – and there was this poster on the wall opposite of two dogs running down the beach. And I said to Zsolt, “Geez, if he gives us bad news all I’m going to associate with this moment is that dog’s butt.”
I’m a damn idiot.
In walked Dr. Canada, and he began talking in second person, say ‘we decided at your last visit that you should get pregnant, and we thought you should get scans first.’ Then he sat down opposite me. He passed out our MRI results (since I always request copies of my results) and said they were fine.
Then he says something like, “now I don’t want you to get very upset, but there’s an abnormality in your CT scan on your lungs.”
Which basically amounts to tiny spots on my right lung, where my breast once sat as it filled up with cancer.
So la, la, la, several minutes later I’m crying and Dr. Canada is writing me an anti-anxiety prescription while my husband, Zsolt, is trying to absorb the conversation. To put it in Dr. Canada’s words: “It’s not a slam dunk,” and there’s a chance it’s not cancer. But also as he said, cancer would be the “highest probability.”
You ever heard of that molecules of emotion book, about reprogramming our RDNA, and therefore changing our situation? Well, thinking of that I want to say this isn’t cancer in my right lung. It’s just scar tissue left over from pneumonia and not caught in an earlier x-ray. That’s what I want it to be. I want to NOT have cancer in my chest. FUCK OFF cancer drama.
But I’ve been crying ever since that meeting. And we’ve been basically devastated. It’s Zsolt’s birthday today. He is the love of my life, and his being born is the greatest gift I could have ever received. I love him, I love him, I love him. So, you can understand, that the concept of leaving him absolutely terrifies me. We decided we need to learn more before we panic further. And also, I should probably stop thinking about death. And I’m avoiding Dr Google best as possible. But there’s something in my lungs, and that something is located awfully close to another something that had to be surgically removed via mastectomy.
This is a weird feeling. I’m not taking that anti-anxiety med, I’d rather cry my way through. And Zsolt, my wonderful Zsolt, he is doing so well. Whether we are emotional, or smiling for each other’s sakes, or smiling for real in a moment of distraction, he is doing so well.
Zsolt: Happy birthday. I love you and that is one thing that will never, ever change. Sorry for the crappiness of today’s celebration, but being together really is the tops, no matter what else is happening.
Prayers, crossed fingers, and good thoughts for a glorious miracle are very much welcome. A miracle would be awesome. Also, a cure for cancer would be awesome as well.