Woke up @ 4am this morning thinking about the brain scan/MRI today at CU. Finally rolled out of bed @ 6. Quiet time. Work out. Took Elsa for short run. Made breakfast for the boys. Shower. Ate gruel. Had green drink and green tea along with tumeric concoction. Fought off a few dozen marauding crescendos of fear. Hit my knees a few times. Tried to get myself in a ‘whatever happens happens’ state of being and remain there. Sit. Stay boy stay. Did I mention they were checking my brain for any evidence of metastatic tumor progression today? Fffffreaking out. No. Stop. Hello knees, again.
Late to CU hospital in Denver. Blame Denver traffic. They (being front desk) should know better. Come to think of it, they likely do know better and so do I. And I will, ah, do better next time. But this time blaming Denver traffic is sooo much easier, perhaps.
Nurse has trouble finding a vein. I reach into my ‘small talk/humor with nurses bag’ and tell him ‘how I found it pretty hard to get a line in this morning too…when shooting heroin.’ He smirks. I wonder if I have tried that one on him before. He finally gets it (not the joke, that was kind of stupid, the vein) and apologizes for impending deforestation of hair follicles on my arm. I don the funny gown. Don’t tie pants very well. Butt likely hanging out. I’m not really that concerned. Should I be? I have other things on my, um, mind (hee hee). But I mean this isn’t prison…even though they are sliding me into a narrow cell. I fall asleep listening to whale calls and thinking about potential alternative therapies. Gripping subject matter, obviously. Wake up snoring/drooling/hoping they took some good pictures with a definite opinion about what might constitute ‘good’ in that context.
Took elevator to Breeze’s office. Couldn’t remember which floor at first. You would think we could get there on muscle memory alone, but no. Short wait. Surf inspirational stories and sayings on phone along with latest hockey news, tech updates, FB, outlook, word of the day. I think I probably used to sort through all that stuff and try to predict, as though reading tea leaves or palms or chicken bones or something, what the news might be based on a kind of wacked ‘Conspiracy Theory’ sort of logic. But, not this time, not going there, I’m kind of over that, maybe, till next time when I decide to sacrifice a goat in the waiting room.
Filled out the same, requisite paperwork with a pen taped to a white plastic spoon cuz you know, in case you didn’t know, we live in a digital age and this time when I get to the question, ‘Are you pregnant or currently nursing’ I might just fill in the black circle next to ‘Hell yes.’ They check my weight (um, really man?), blood pressure (high) but pulse is low cuz I’m gangsta with antifreeze for blood, or something like that. And then it hits me, somewhere between Sarah reassuring me that all is good and going to the bathroom to get one more plea from the parquet floor before they deliver the news, this is normal. To use an overused cliche (um isn’t overused the definition of cliche?), this is the new normal.
How many times have I lived the above, before, in some form or fashion over the last 4 plus years? By my estimates I’m converging on 50 MRIs, if I haven’t already summited that peak. The thoughts, feelings and events described above, are basically the same, every time. Its groundhog day at CU hospital, again. Its groundhog day at CU hospital, again. Its groundhog day at CU….
Thankfully the results were “Normal” too or, let me clarify, fit the “New Normal” mold. In my case, having dozens of spots light up like Christmas lights on the MRI is normal. Normal also means those lights aren’t getting bigger or brighter. Normal is good.
Hopefully this doesn’t come off as too much insipidness and whining. Groundhog day, whaa whaa whaa. Poor me. There are friends and acquaintances right now dying in the hospital from abnormal scan results. I am, as far as I know, human and would like to be told, ‘holy cow dude you are all clear, no X-mas lights, that’s a fricking miracle’ instead ‘holy cow dude 4 years and you are still here, that’s a fricking miracle.’ There are more and more friends and acquaintances getting news like that too.
But in the meantime I will settle back, for the next few months hopefully, into the new normal because that’s pretty good.
PS. Thanks to those who have been wondering where the hay I have been. I picked up the ‘writing bug’ again while in the hospital in May and have been working on the next, probably quite crappy, American novel instead of ‘visiting’ this page here. In doing so I am reminded of that character in Camus’ “The Stranger” who is stuck writing the same page, day after day, of the book he never completes. I am also reminded of that late, great television show, ‘American Idol’ and all the cringe worthy moments in each season when intrepid guys and girls would swear on the blood of their mommies and daddies that they knew, without a shadow of doubt, they were most certainly the next great, american idol. Anyways if/when I get more than the couple of hundred pages I have written done I will likely post here and let the William Hung comparisons fly. Hey Stage IV cancer patients are still allowed to dream big right?