Last Sunday, I went to
church for the first time since the cancer diagnosis. I received hugs and
comforting words, as well as tears from some who were caught off guard by the
news. The congregation surrounded me and prayed for me, their hands on my
shoulders and head while Irvin anointed me with oil. I felt supported by those
prayers as by a network of imperceptible threads of lights. I am not alone in this
unwanted trip.
Two days ago, I
received the results of all the MRI and scanner I went through during the week.
The nurse took my
blood pressure. She seemed surprised.
“Do you have high blood pressure?” she asked. I smiled. “No. I am scared.”
She looked skeptical and started all over again. She probably found the same
result as she did not say anything else.
The results were
good. No additional tumor anywhere – except, maybe, a small one by the location
of the original one. Tomorrow Monday, I will have an outpatient procedure
during which the “sentinel node” will be extracted, the port for the chemo will
be inserted, and some additional tissue will be taken out to check out this
possible second tumor. If it is there, it will be swiped away by the chemo and
the radiations anyway.
I felt the effects of
relief, cascading sweetly in waves all evening. I am comfortable facing one
small tumor, aggressive or not. There will be blood.
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