The all-clear report of yesterday has become an almost-but-not-quite-clear-though-probably-clear. . . . so let’s schedule an MRI. My surgeon called at about five today to say that he had consulted with the radiologist, and there are some places in my treated breast that are new and look like cysts, but he’d rather I have an MRI to be sure that that’s indeed what they are. He doesn’t feel I need them biopsied, and I can wait for the MRI until after my Savannah trip next week.
Yes, I’d rather take another step to be sure they’re just cysts, so I’ll follow his advice. I’ve had lots of cysts over the years, and I know it’s likely that these new places are just that, cysts. But I do know that what I hoped was a cyst 18 months ago turned out to be cancer. It was interesting to me that my surgeon never said the word “cancer” today. Just “the trouble area.” I was thinking, “Yes, that area where you cut out a big hunk of flesh because of a cancerous tumor.” I think he was trying not to worry me.
Apparently he doesn’t read my blog 🙂
Because I’m well aware that cancer can return. I feel about saying “cancer” as Harry Potter felt about saying “Voldemort.” I’m going to say the word, call it what it is, because in some small way that takes away some of its power to create fear.
I’m a little concerned, but not a lot. As I said in my blog post this morning, the I AM lesson is important in not letting my mind make up a really scary story that unwinds and wraps me up so that I can’t breathe.
It’s still a beautiful day. Birds are still singing. My old cat has gone behind the sofa to hang out in the semi-darkness for a bit. The sun is setting, a golden glow right now in the western sky. I feel pretty good even though I was nauseated and headachy earlier and missed acupuncture and coffee with a friend.
I was okay yesterday when I thought I had an “all-clear” from the mammogram and ultrasound. And I’m okay today when I’ll be going in for an MRI probably before the end of the month. And I will be okay when I get those results.
Because I’m happy to be here for as long as that is.
If cancer were to return, it’s not that I wouldn’t be down and sad and worried and dread treatments. But I’m learning to be present to what is in this moment. And this one is fine. And I am fine. Right now.
For each now.