Scanxiety

Scanxiety.

Isn't it amazing the new words you get to learn when after you've had a cancer diagnosis? Even if they are potentially suspect neologisms.

In an effort to prevent YOUR anxiety, I'll not bury the lede. Jess and I travelled to OHSU in Portland to do another CT scan. The news from that scan is that I still have no evidence of disease and the dead tumor is still shrinking. Another 2 cm leaving it at 7.5 cm in size. My blood tumor marker dropped precipitously. That number is apparently a lagging indicator, so much like looking at stars in the sky, you're sort of seeing the past rather than seeing life (or in this case, death of cells) as it is now.

Hot damn.

The scan was fast and simple. The blood test not so much, more of a cattle call, but whatever. The plan is, for Dr. Strother, for me to be on the 3-month plan going forward.

I’m going to tell you, and Jess and echo this, that getting a scan after you’re “better” seems worse than when you’re in active treatment. Why? Because when you’re in active treatment, you know you’re fighting cancer. The “battle,” as it were, is the thing that you’re doing because you have to. But the scans when you aren’t actively in treatment are more nerve-wracking because, as I said before, the horror movie monster may just keep coming back. It’s no wonder that Laurie Strode has PTSD.

<sigh>

So yes, I’m still very happy that I get more time to be Darin, and Jess gets more time to be with Darin.

But my sense of invulnerability is shattered. In its place, I get a better appreciation for life. When I’m singing in the car with my lovely wife, I’m more fully in the moment about how good my life is.

Appreciate it now, because it can get ripped away at a moment’s notice. While that’s a bit of a downer to end on, it’s the truth.

Love your life.