Today is my check-up with my oncologist. Driving here – the whole two miles – I was biting my nails (sorry mom) and tense, and of course what comes on the radio? Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying. I’m already on the verge of tears with the anniversary of the Boston Marathon bombing, I really don’t need this, too. Not sure why I didn’t make the connection when I confirmed the appointment…
Nonetheless, I’m here now. I’ll be able to tell Dr. M about all my aches, pains, side effects and symptoms, all of which are constant dull voices in the back of my head, saying, “it’s back…” I know I’m crazy, I know most of its nothing, and I know the simple blood tests and physical that are being done today will not be able to tell if a secondary or other cancer is lurking within me. No full body scans or other tests to say for sure I am cancer free. I know that is for my own good, with all the false positives and questionable images. And I know that even after talking to Dr. M the voices will linger. But I also know I will feel a bit better having shared all my worries and hearing her tell me not to worry.
I guess one cancer makes you an instant lifetime hypochondriac.
Amy's America 