The Black Hole Machine

The last few weeks have been a struggle for me, this in turn makes it really hard for me to write in this blog.  I really prefer to write about my emotions (especially very strong emotion) after the intensity of the feeling has passed.  It is sometimes interesting to write in the moment, however, incoherent and confusing and without conclusions is usually what I get.


I like the clarity that comes with letting the storm pass before reporting on it.  Nobody likes watching a news anchor in the middle of a hurricane screaming into a microphone that it's windy and raining. (OK, well maybe I do like to see that but not for reasons I am willing to admit to.)  I think by giving myself time to process feelings I can write about them with a lot more clarity and perspective. So what I have been feeling the last few weeks? Well, it's been windy and raining.

I went in for my 6 month scan. I dreaded this much much more than I was ready or willing to admit. I worked tirelessly and desperately not to think or talk about it. It was as though vocalizing my fear would have made it more real and I couldn't bare to deal with that so I did the only alternative. Get too busy to think straight, pretend it wasn't happening and blow a gasket over every little annoyance I could. The first problem with this plan is that you quickly turn into an alienating monster that lashes out at anyone who is unfortunate enough to cross your path (my heart felt apology to the St. George City Public Works employees).

The other problem with my plan was that life demands sleep. This means at some point in the day no matter how busy I made myself or how many fights I picked with people I would have to stop, lay down and turn off the lights.  This point of the day was my arch nemesis. My head would hit the pillow and the thought would surface. "What if one cell survived." This thought would in turn produce a physical reaction of nausea, the nausea would remind me of chemo and the reminder of chemo would re-enforce my fear of recurrence and this cycle of emotions was my insomnia. My relief was either drug induced sleep or caffeine fueled busyness.  Not really getting much important done but the fear of stopping kept me busy as hell.

Despite my efforts to cancel and delay the day of the scan arrived. I spent the day fasting and drinking the barium. Then I went in and was given the contrast. The injection plus the nasty drink set off a physical and emotional reaction that felt so much like a round of chemo I had puked before we even left the hospital. Hyrum went into caregiver mode and I went down hard. I took a sleeping pill just about the second we got home.  I didn't want to be awake anymore. It was about 7:00 on a Friday night and I wanted nothing more than to sleep it off.  I was pretty sick the whole weekend which seemed to last forever. Finally Monday came and I went to my thankfully uneventful appointment with my oncologist. The scan came back, as expected, all clear.

The Black Hole Machine

At this point I should perhaps look back on my bad behavior with embarrassment or at very least the feeling that I over reacted to the situation.  I however am going to stand by my freaking the crap out (sorry Hyrum). The whole thing is kinda like that black hole machine they build in Switzerland. (Stay with me I can make this make sense.)

In short a few years ago scientists from many different nations built this giant 17 mile long machine to further their understanding of atoms. Some scientists calculated that there was a microscopic chance that by using the machine it would create a tiny black hole that would grow and destroy the universe. Because of this small itty-bitty chance that the world would end people in and out of the scientific community freaked out and protested the project. This is exactly how I feel about being scanned.  Even though my chances of cancer recurring are somewhere between that machine in Switzerland creating a black hole and less than likely, the stakes being so high will probably always make me nervous. Hopefully with each time I turn on the machine and my world isn't sucked into a giant black hole it will become more and more comfortable to be scanned. Something tells me however, that the itty-bitty chance of disaster will always give me some pause, even if only to remind me how temporary we all are and how important it is to learn what we can despite the risks.