Tomorrow is the 6-months to the date since I was cast, involuntarily, into this fight. Coincidentally, it’s also when I undergo my 12-week post-treatment PET scan, from eyes to thighs as they say, to determine the results of my fight so far.
In this give-me-convenience-or-give-me-death world of instant gratification, having to wait 12 weeks for anything seems absurd. The fact is, everyday brings a new wrinkle to the post-treatment fabric — I never know how my body is going to be doing every single day.
Today, after a normal, hearty breakfast, my system crashed hard. Fatigue set in after breakfast and never really let up. Water tasted normal today. My muscles still inexplicably ache, and headaches still make surprise appearances. And it was a great day, overall. I won’t bore you with details of the highlights of my life, but it was a great day.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about my scan tomorrow. But like every other day in this journey, I have to surrender to the moment and see what my care team and I have accomplished.
If another round of battle is necessary, I think I’m up to the task. The first fight seemed impossible in the thick of things, but with the benefit of elapsed time and mental distance, it is doable. It has to be.
Whatever tomorrow brings, I know that I’ve fought like hell. I’ve left no stone unturned and investigated all possible avenues.