The bone scan was today. I won’t go into too much since I already wrote a detail-rich post on bone scanning about 3  years ago. Except here in Canada they put an elastic around your feet and wrap you up in a cocoon-thing. No wonder some people get claustrophobic. But mostly it’s like being put to bed for a nap.

Though one odd thing happened, and now I feel compelled to over-analyze it. Before the scan the technician was asking all kinds of questions.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Oh, do you not know why I’m here?”

“I just need to make sure you know.”

Okay. So I tell her. I’m there because of breast cancer.

“Where?” she asks.

“Right side,” I say.

Then she says something along the lines of “you have breast cancer on you right side.”

And I say, “No, I don’t know if I have breast cancer.”

“You don’t know?”

“I had it three years ago.”

Then she asks if I’ve had follow ups, operations, dental work, etc. And then says, “So why do you need this scan?”

To which I reply, “I wanted to get pregnant, and so they did a CT and found some spots on my lungs. I don’t know what they are, but we’re checking for cancer.”

That conversation went back and forth like a game of ping pong. She wasn’t rude or anything, but I got the feeling she was trying to determine whether I “knew what was happening”. But I swear I didn’t show up the scan looking like a hot mess, or falling over drunk, and wouldn’t it be so much more sane to completely forget the shit storm that has caused this anxiety than be able to remember every freaking detail?

ANYHOW.

The scan happens. It’s easy. If you are going to get a scan, I say, “Make it a bone scan!”

And afterwards, as I hop off the table and grab my shoes to go, she says the weirdest thing: “Good luck with your pregnancy and all that other stuff.”

Okay, thanks?

Do technicians know the power of their words? Do they realize we patients of paranoia analyze every sound that comes out of their mouths? “Good luck with your pregnancy and all that other stuff.” What does that mean, oh great Sherlock of speculation?  Has she peered into my future and saw that there’s no cancer? Does she think my oncologist is totally overreacting? Did she get distracted by the end-of-day procedures and just say the first thing that came to her mind, possibly relating to the concept of pregnancy because she too is trying to get pregnant?

I just don’t know, and I guess I’ll never know.

In other news, today Zsolt and I underwent the serious process of making pickles. It involved cleaning jars, pouring water into a pot then pouring it back into measuring cups since we didn’t know the quantity (or rather, I didn’t believe Zsolt’s guess of 5 litres that turned out to be correct), adding salt to the water, slicing the cucumbers after they were cleaned, adding dill, garlic and bay leaves  to the jars, sticking the cucumbers into the jars, and topping them with toasted sour dough bread. Then, everything was placed into the sun.

It’s been HOT these past few days. The apartment is above thirty degrees (Canadian for ‘damn hot’), we have been stinking and sweating and sweating and stinking – so what do you do in a heat wave? Make pickles.

In other news, we’ve discovered an amazing pond that isn’t too far away from the apartment. It’s really an old quarry that’s been filled with water, and the locals go swimming in the ‘pond’ – the whole thing feels like camp, and it’s the sort of exercise that I’m actually really happy to do. There’s magic in water, particularly nature and water, and I’m really thankful that in this time of crap and coping, there’s a place so full of laughter.

And that was today. Next week is going to be nuts: scans and meetings every day. But maybe, if miracles can happen, they’ll bring me some good news too. We’ll see. Even when I feel like I’ve lost my hope, little bits of it float back up and I think, “maybe, just maybe it will be okay.”

So here’s hoping. Pregnancy, pickles and ponds. That’s what I want. Oh, and that trip to the beach I mentioned before! 🙂