Last Thursday I went to the National Cancer Institute for a CAT scan which coincided with the last day of chemotherapy I received in 2009. So it was three years and I was so freaked out I barely slept for the week before. Of course, I put on a brave front when I go to NCI since that is how I was raised and that is how I normally act no matter what the situation. I almost always looked cool and calm and collected but the joke is that’s just my demeanor. Many times I don’t feel that way. I just look that way. People have told me over the years, “I wish I had your self-confidence.”
I reply, “I wish I had the self-confidence I seem to have. This is just my natural demeanor to seem this way even though I want to throw up from anxiety.” And actually I did throw up from anxiety the night before I went. But I joked with everyone when I got there. “Got my radioactive water for me to drink? Yum!” Actually, it just tastes like water. And I’ve been scanned more than a basket of groceries in a supermarket. Since I’m in a clinical trial I got scanned all the time when I was going through the treatment and have been scanned on the average of every four months since I completed chemo three years ago. That starts to stretch out as time goes on so my next scan is nine months from now and after that it will be once a year until I die from something else.