Expectations
Part of me went in expecting disappointment again.
I’d been quietly freaking out in anticipation of the appointment with my oncologist on Thursday. I didn’t want to see my husband, who took the day off work to accompany me, get that look on his face. The same look I saw when I first told him I didn’t want to do chemotherapy. The one that told me he would do his best to be supportive even though on the inside, he was spiraling in his own fears, picturing me sick, imagining life without me.
Another part of me went in knowing the news wouldn’t be all bad. I’d already looked at the CT results on MyChart, and I knew that the affected lymph nodes had grown. I didn’t know what my bloodwork would say, but I anticipated it would be similar to last time. I expected some good news since my body has been providing me with a number of subtle indications of improved function over the last several months.
I don’t know what my husband expected.
When I go in for these “check-in” or monitoring appointments, my first stop is the lab. The phlebotomist was very sweet and friendly. She talked about her recent birthday (39) and expressed some of the usual reluctance to turn the big 4-0. When I told her that forty is awesome, that my forties have been pretty great, she double checked my birth year and seemed genuinely shocked at my age. Not a bad start to my appointment. The needle barely hurt, and she collected what she needed from me quickly and efficiently.
We walked over to the other side, to the cancer clinic. The sun shone through the large windows on the fourth floor, and we paused a moment to take in the view. It was a clear day, and we were high enough up to see all the way downtown.
I was called back, my vitals taken, and the nurse let us know that due to the technology issues they were having that morning, my doctor would be in to see us, “sometime today.”
We waited about an hour before she finally came in.
She went through the bloodwork first. She even pulled up a comparative view to see how all of my numbers have changed over time. The red numbers—the ones out of normal range—were all closer to normal than last time. Relief.
Then she pulled up the images from my last CT scan in October alongside the one from a few weeks ago. She scrolled through each cross section, showing us the measurements of each lymph node. Showing the bright streak artifacts where my dental work interfered. She confirmed that the cancer hadn’t spread to any other nodes or organs, which was exactly what I expected to hear.
My husband asked about the difference between CT and PET scans. The oncologist explained why we were doing CT instead of PET, what insurance would cover and not cover, and when a PET scan would be necessary or preferable in my case.
As we talked about the scans, my oncologist—a lymphoma specialist—said that my Hodgkin’s wasn’t progressing the way she expected it would “without treatment.” She said that what she usually sees from Hodgkin’s lymphoma is significant progression over time.
I’ve been waiting for the day when my cancer behaved in ways that medical doctors didn’t expect.
I left that appointment so, so happy! I turned to my husband, smiled and said, “I’m doing good.”
The thing is, I didn’t know that Hodgkin’s lymphomas are supposed to grow and spread. All I was told by the oncologists was that chemotherapy can make it go away. All I’ve learned from the alternative resources I’ve explored was that the body can heal itself, including from cancer. I believe it can. I believe it does. I believe mine is.
I am healing.
At the chiropractic office, we explain to our patients that there are different phases to healing. The first is the “slowing down” phase, where the objective is to slow down the progression of dis-ease in the body, to stop it from getting worse. The next phase is stabilization, where a solid foundation is created. Only then can we move into regeneration, healing, correction, or however you want to describe it.
This process takes time. I did not get cancer suddenly. It didn’t just appear one day out of the blue. Cancer didn’t magically grow overnight. And as much as I and every other cancer patient would love to expect an overnight cure, it’s not entirely realistic. There are stories of miraculous, instantaneous healing out there—I’ve read many of them—and it’s okay if that’s not my story. I expect plenty more miracles to show up in my story.
I am healing. Whether it takes moments, months or years, I am healing and so, so grateful for the slow and steady miracle of it all.
Thanks for following along with my journey. To support me in my healing, visit saradeacon.com/support for practical ways to help.