ALL CLEAR

I smell like cold air, Mexican food and mid day sleep. That's a beautiful thing. It means that today I ventured into the belly of the hospital and faced what is unquestionably my biggest fear. A recurrence.

Several weeks ago this blog suffered a sudden neglect that startled friends and disappointed the author. My mind wandered all the time and something like a blog seemed somehow too trivial for my precious words. I started countless entries and wiped them out like a napalm crazy editor on a permanent tour of Vietnam. I was short with close friends and became known for not returning calls. I was living in Cancerland.*

July 22 was the 3 year anniversary of having cancer push me out of the driver's seat of my life. It was a Sunday and it felt like finally I could end all this. Monday next year I would forget all about the anniversary, and focus on the fact that it is just another day. Then this year's Monday happened. Everything came to a halt.

There is was. A lumpy, little area, sticking out across the ex-tumor site. I yelped. I cried. I couldn't stop touching it. I turned off the water, stepped out and faced the steamy mirror. I pulled open the door and made C come in and review it. Her clinical analysis was that, yes, something was obviously there (and woman please find yourself a towel)! Here we go again.

So started 4 frustrating weeks of Dr. appointments, hairy tests (not hairy chests!), and lots of truncated emails. Mostly it left me with gobs of questions and few answers. Signs pointed North, South, Down and Yellow. I holed up in my parents house for a whole week while they vacationed. One of my best friends smashed her brand new car and had it fixed and returned before I ever even knew it had happened. I looked up and the whole end of my summer had vanished. The plucky little pudge of swelling had not (it just waved and continued eating lunch - roast beef in case you're curious).

This morning C and I practiced our comedy duo live show in the first floor radiology lounge. Barium jokes ricocheted from the walls to the floor and whizzed past a nurse into the hall. The fellow patients grew dizzy and lightheaded (with laughter not asthma). And I waited. Finally my name was politely called and off we went to that room behind the curtain. Sadly there was no man with fun buttons and levers on the other side.

We emerged several hours later sticky but victorious! No signs of cancer here!** Whee!! I wanted to cartwheel home but C insisted we drive. Good thing too, since she needed her car later. Once safely home I toppled into bed and any geologist would have easily confused me with a rock. I took a phone call from London when it woke me up. I shared my good news with A and it brightened a bleary day for her. Later I toasted taquitos with my LA parents at dinner, while enjoying the side of screaming baby we apparently ordered. Then my little family breathed a collective sigh of relief (and onions).

We had made it. We had conquered our first fire drill. Somebody sound the all clear, just in case Cancer hasn't heard.


* This is the place you live when your diagnosis is still uncertain. Once diagnosed you proceed directly to life in Hell.

** I nicely skipped over the trauma of getting all my questions finally answered. Cheers!