Wednesday I get started on the diagnostic imaging. At 7:30 in the morning they’re going to do an abdominal ultrasound to see if there’s any spread of the cancer to my liver. After that, they’ll do a chest x-ray to see if there’s any cancer in my lungs.
On Thursday morning I go to the hospital twice. First thing in the morning, they’ll give me an injection and then I’ll leave. I’ll return at noon for the bone scan to see if there’s any cancer in my skeleton.
After that, the only pre-surgical imaging required is the MRI of my breasts, which hasn’t been scheduled yet. But I do have my actual mammogram films in my filing cabinet. If I wanted to, I could post them right here on my blog, so we could all look at the insides of my squished breasts. (Don’t worry – I won’t.)
I know none of these tests will hurt, but psychologically they creep me out. I want to get the tests over with so I can heave that big old sigh of relief when they all come back negative. But the idea of going looking for more trouble? It’s tempting the fates, and the fates haven’t been exactly benevolent towards me this year.
It’s like going down to the basement to prove to yourself that the ominous noise isn’t coming from demons. But what if it is?? What if there’s a big fat ugly demon rubbing his hands together and chortling gleefully as he waits for me down in the basement? (I’m still working on that Ghandiesque view of cancer, by the way. There are wrinkles.)