The days you receive your CT scan results from your oncologist are usually filled with nerves and some reasonable level of anxiety. You never really know what the doctor will say. It's definitely a nervous morning welcoming the opportunity to lean on God like never before. You think, "what's he going to say this time? Is it surgery again? Am I going back on treatment? Or something else? Am I clear?"
I woke up at 6:30 am to be picked up by my friend Lauren who graciously committed to being with me the entire day at Johns Hopkins Cancer Center (and I'm sure she can think of a thousand other places more enticing to spend her time!). I arrived, scanned my little orange card (the one the hospital gives you, with barcode on it) and sat down. The front desk computer printed out my "list of activities" as I liked to call it. It is a little paper, looks like a school schedule or an itinerary at a Disney resort, full with times and locations of where you should be and when, and who you will see. I signed in at Oncological Radiology, and the nurse came out right away with my CT scan solution. THIS.....was not like any other CT scan solution I've had. Usually they give me barium sulfate to drink (which tastes like you are downing a quart of orange suntan lotion) or this foul tasting water type stuff. This drink, was different. It was made with Crystal Lite!!! I'm not kidding, it was genius. I downed the whole thing in a matter of minutes, as I had been fasting for the scan. I was thrilled and in a great mood since I did not have to drink terrible stuff, ha! They called me back, found my vein and inserted the IV needle to prepare a catheter in my (right) arm to receive the CT scan contrast mix.
The scan room is usually cold, so they gave me pre-heated blankets....I love that the hospital has these! It was over within 5 minutes, you slide through the tube twice - once without contrast and the other time with contrast, and then done. I had the radiology tech take my picture:
Lauren and I then went downstairs to wait for my next appointment, which was to receive my results of the CT scan. (They NEVER happen this fast, so I was increasingly impressed with the efficiency at Johns Hopkins!) Lauren did a good job of keeping me distracted, however, lately my mind has been reflecting on this cancer journey. It is sort of like when you are climbing a mountain, and you are too busy focusing on the security of your gear, who is with you, and the terrain conditions - and then you reach the top, and you stop to turn around and look down. You see how far you've come, how far you've traveled. You see every major obstacle, steep cliff, drop in altitude, scary spots, and slippery areas only to realize, you've made it. It was a lot, and you can only feel overwhelmed with a slew of emotions. You feel thankful, you feel stronger, you feel exhausted (spiritually, physically, emotionally), you feel hopeful, you feel fear (will there be bigger mountains ahead?), you feel crazy super blessed that you get to see it, you feel closer to God Himself, you feel lifted up, you feel triumphant, you feel emotional, you feel like you have a second chance, you feel like now you can survey where everyone is and what they are doing, and you may even feel like its just you and God up there. If only I can be worthy of this scripture:
I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race. I have kept the faith. - 2 Timothy 4:7, NIV
We were called back, the doctor was ready to give us the results. The nurse took my vitals, per usual, and we waited patiently for Dr. Lipson. He came in, and said, "Well, your scans looked terrific!" In my head, I thought, "What on earth does that mean?! Does that mean the quality of the scan is good? Does that mean I have 14 new tumors in my lungs, but its great because we can actually see them there? He couldn't mean, I'm totally clear, could he? What?" He said, "It was clear!" I quickly asked aloud, "What?! Is this a joke?! Am I on 'Pranked' right now?" I was dumbfounded, and Lauren looked at me in astonishment. He pulled up the scan images, and sure enough, my right lung was completely and totally CLEAR. The minor downside, the left lung still had the 3mm mass sitting right there on the wall of my lung on posterior side. However, he explained that since the little thing hadn't grown any, that "it appeared to not be cancerous." Though he was quick to remind me that he still wants to heavily monitor it, and my lungs, moving forward. I asked about my survival rate, which remained unchanged. We small talked, and then we were were on our way - to lunch, to celebrate!
(My previous scan - showing the two nodes, one on right lung and one on left lung..... such tiny little things that cause so much drama!)
The rest of the day was filled was sharing the good news, and lots of tears of praising God and just joy. My next scan and full day of tests is December 13, 2013 so I will not have to think about "having" cancer again until then. As for now, I've beat it! Praise! The! Lord! Technically, I learned that I cannot be called a "cancer survivor" until I hit my 5 year anniversary. For the next year, I'll have check-ups every 3-4 months, and then for three years I will have check-ups every six months. The five year anniversary is a HUGE one for most cancer patients. Your survival rate dramatically improves, and the chances of you dying of something else are much, much higher. As for now, I'm technically 10 months N.E.D., or No Evidence of Disease. The oncology department at Johns Hopkins (and Washington Cancer Institute) no longer use the term "remission" as it appears it is a misleading term. Now they use NED status, and my last tested removal of cancer was my surgery in October 12, 2012 when I was positive for cancerous lymph nodes. Kinda crazy, huh?!
So what does beating cancer feel like? It feels like that mountain top, maybe even better. I severely underestimated how much impact this disease would have on my life. I thought I could contain it in a little proverbial box, tucked away, not able to impact my work life, my social life, my personal life, etc. SO not true. It bled into everything, and I mean everything. I lost friends (believe it or not, some people just really don't want to deal with your cancer so they choose to check out all together), I lost hair, I definitely have spent a lot of money on this expensive illness, I lost personal dignity at times, I lost perspective at times, and I lost a lot of physical strength. But what I gained has been infinitely greater. If cancer were my greatest opponent (much like that of Bethany Hamilton and Molina Birch in the movie Soul Surfer), and I'd want to thank cancer for not being easy on me. I'd want to thank cancer for driving me into the arms of my loving God deeper and more frequently than probably anything or anyone else ever could. I'd want to thank cancer for causing me to hit my knees in prayer on a daily basis to not just pray for myself, but to thank God for showing His grace and kindness through the hands and feet of so many of His servants who truly love Him. I'd want to thank cancer for forcing me to face more silent sins in my life, and to throw them at the foot of the Cross. I'd want to thank cancer for making me so joyful and thankful about my life now, that it can never win. I'd want to thank cancer for forcing me to learn to ask others for help, as pride swallowing as that can be, the glory God gets is much greater. In reality, all of these "thanks" to cancer, are really a "thanks" to God. God used cancer to make me a completely different person than I was a year ago. Life is a gift, we don't have to live it everyday, but we get to, by God's grace alone. Wether it is bad, good, or indifferent, we get to LIVE it. I find myself wishing I had spent more days resting in the palm of God's hand than fighting Him, and now I get to live that out - knowing my God can certainly be trusted with more than just our lives, but our souls as well. Even if I never beat cancer, it wouldn't change that God is still more than trustworthy and that He is incredibly good to us.
