At least that’s what my surgeon says.  You see, he will not call me if my scans are clear, only if there is a problem (I would bet he has never waited anxiously for test results or he would be more compassionate).  My husband describes that waiting period as “a slowly fading sense of dread.”  So, the endpoint is a phone call from my surgeon (bad news) or when the results are finally posted to our hospital’s online portal (good news).  That posting occurred yesterday.  There is no indication of recurrence on the x-rays or MRI (the actual words were “No evidence of residual or recurrent disease”).  Sweeter words were never spoken (or read)!!!

Now I move to annual scans, a milestone I have been looking forward to for six years.  I can’t even imagine being able to live for an entire year without periodic scans hanging over my head, but I am really looking forward to finding out how that feels. Maybe I will plan a vacation for 11 months in the future.  Wow, what a concept.  Thank you so much for your kind words and prayers, as I approached these latest tests. They were felt and carried me through this waiting period.  My blog tribe is the best in the world and I never take your support for granted. Celebratory hugs all around!

You would think it would get easier, but it doesn’t seem to work out that way.  My next scans are scheduled later this week.  Anxiety abounds.  I tell myself that the greatest risk of recurrence was in the first 2-3 years.  I tell myself that these are my 6 year scans and I have been clear to date.  And then I remember ALL the stories people have shared with me about friends and relatives who made it to 5 years, got the all clear, and then it came back everywhere and they died.  Yes, you can’t imagine how many of those stories I have been told.  I never understand why people think that is helpful.

I also remember what happened last year, at my 5 year scans.  I don’t know how many of you read all about that in last year’s blog posts (feel free to look back at them, if you want more of the details), but the short version is my surgeon read my scans and said they looked clear, only to call me 3 days later and say the Radiologist saw something and he is “very concerned.”  When your cancer surgeon tells you he is “very concerned,” you become VERY CONCERNED!  So, although it ended up being a false alarm, the PTSD is real.  My body experienced emotions and trauma that were worse than during the initial diagnosis. You see, when I received my original cancer diagnosis I knew it would be bad, but I had NO idea how bad.  Now I know and that makes the prospect of a recurrence all the more excruciating.

So, I approach these scans with anxiety, logic, dread, hope, and lots of prayer.  I tend to beat myself up over the anxiety and dread parts.  After all, I have made it this far, although statistics lead us to believe I wouldn’t.  I also feel like somewhat of a fraud because I started a blog called Hopeful Survivor.  I am hopeful, just not every second of every day.  So, I write this in the spirit of authenticity and with the hope that it encourages others who are afraid of what the future might hold.  Hope is a powerful emotion and one that is crucial for creating a life worth living.  As I approach this week’s scans and the results of those scans, I acknowledge my emotions.  I honor what I am feeling.  And I move forward with hope.  Prayers and positive energy gratefully accepted.