So my PET Scan results came back. I got an email with the sentence: "the results are really good". And what was my reaction? A little teary. A little shaky. And then that was immediately followed with this thought: "Well, what the hell does really good mean?" After talking to my mother, I was able to relax a little and gain some perspective. "Really good" means I am not worse so I can take that as a win. But still, what the frig did really good mean? I called my nurse practitioner and waited for her to call me back and explain my results in further detail. She usually calls at the end of her work day. So I waited...and waited....and waited. No call. Why am I bringing this up? Well, because every second of my day revolved around that phone call. And it never came. And this, my friends, is the perfect example of how a human with cancer and a human without cancer have completely different brains. She probably got busy and didn't have time and didn't think much of it. She went home from her work day and went about doing normal everyday things. I, however, stared at a phone and never let it out of my sight. I had an acupuncture appointment that night. That is the one place where I don't bring in a phone. Number one, because it's rude and number two, because it's the one time I disconnect myself from my phone and my life as best I can. I sat all needled up (except in my phone answering hand) with my phone at my hip. And then I drove home with no music on because I wanted to hear my ringer. And then I realized, I wasn't getting a phone call and I would have to wait until the next day to find out what really good meant. Yeah, you can imagine how well rested I was that night. I do have a point here. The point is that the brain of someone who has cancer becomes completely rewired. It's like my brain is capable of simultaneous thoughts, a new means of double thinking. Here are a few examples of what I mean:
* "I really need to dust off my ceiling fan" and "Oh my god, I have cancer."
*"I really don't get all the hype about Walking Dead" and "I wonder if it's spreading."
*"I love you so much Sam" and "Please let me see her grow up."
So, yeah, that's a cancer brain.
Anyway, the nurse practitioner did call the next day and said that nothing lit up on my scan, not the tumor in my stomach or the suspicious spot on my gall bladder. So what was my reaction? Pure and utter elation? Umm. Nope. And this brings me right back to the cancer brain. Everyone around me was ecstatic. Their brains allowed them to do so. My brain did not let me. My brain still won't. It's been a few days since the results. I have allowed myself to let some happiness in. However, that happiness is of course victim to double thinking.
More examples:
*"I can't believe it hasn't spread" and "Don't get too excited Lauren, your next scan could be completely different".
*"That is so awesome that my gall bladder didn't light up" and "gastric cancer statistics suck so bad".
You get the picture.
Now, I'm sure some of you are thinking that I need to be more positive so I'll stop you right there. I am positive, and I am hopeful, but I'm a realist to a fault. When I got my diagnosis I was told by numerous staff members at UPenn that my reaction was not normal. The social worker, who knew I was not in denial, said that I was really focusing on the wellbeing of the people around me instead of myself. One of the doctors said I was acting more like a doctor and less like a patient. I also was very quick to try and get my affairs in order at home and at work. I can't shut any of these behaviors off. I wish I knew how. My brain is too powerful. 2 weeks ago I tried my first yoga class. At one point, the yoga instructor told us to clear all thoughts out of our minds and just focus on breathing. Can you guess what my brain decided to do? I call this the "whatever you do, don't push the big red button" syndrome.
So tomorrow starts my second round of chemo. Here's to another 2 months of frying cells, good and bad. You know what would be nice? It would be nice if chemo not only killed cells and tumors, but thoughts and fears as well.
A girl can dream...
I'm not sure how to end this post. I feel like it comes off a bit negative, but I'm just trying to shed light on the inner workings of someone with a daily struggle. Maybe I should add that I am lucky in terms of mental distraction. I'm sure any mental health professional would agree that distraction is a must for everyone. So yeah, I have kids. And needless to say, they are a huge distraction. I also have a ton of people surrounding me with texts, Facebook posts, or good old fashioned gossip.
And then there is the laughter. The most powerful form of distraction. I am blessed with funny kids and an extremely funny husband. And I have always made it a point to surround myself with funny people. And then there is me. Well, I'm a modern day Carol Burnett!
So I will end this like she would:
"I am so glad we had this time together."
I am tugging on my ear.