Today was MRI day. I get them every three months now. I actually wasn't nervous about the test itself. And I won't know if I've dodged another bullet for another week. Instead what I felt was lonely--and dizzy. Lonely-okay. Dizzy--not so much. My husband does not normally go with me to my doctor appointments, as he is a working man, and I am physically able to take myself.
But after being in a loud chamber for about 45 minutes, I felt a little disoriented, yet I had things to do. I could only take so much time to get my bearings before getting back in my car and doing errands.
In a perfect world he would take me to my doctor appointments, but again, he's the working man, and in these hard times, he has other obligations.
Nevertheless, after hauling myself, my son and his friend hither and yon, and throwing together dinner, my husband said to me, "I had a shitty day today." I said sarcastically something like, "Well then, it's a good thing I don't have cancer."
"Life must go on," he retorted.
And that's just it. From my view, he acts like he doesn't think I have cancer anymore. And to some extent he's right. We aren't in crisis mode. Life should go on and it is.
However, I still have cancer, and all of the worry, chaos and uncertainty that go with it. I was reminded of that today as I went into the cancer world for my MRI.
I am very happy to live life, but I find it difficult to live it as I used to, or how others think I should live it. Some days just aren't that easy to handle. Daily tasks that others may take for granted as easy, I find frustrating. Like driving, for example, which I did a lot of today.
I will consider myself "cancer free" when a doctor says so, and/or when I don't need MRI's or other treatment.
I don't see that day coming soon, but I'm also not quite dead yet. I'm perhaps the luckiest cancer survivor walking.
However, I still haven't decided whether the glass is half-empty or half-full.
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