PET Scan #4
I know the routine for PET scans now.
I got off the hospital elevator at the appropriate floor, and said hello to my favorite ladies in reception. Today there was a man playing his saxophone near the elevators. As I listen to his soulful music, I think about this man and what life experience he had that made him choose to play his instrument on the oncology floor of the hospital. This gift of music in this weighty place makes me reflect on kindness in its many forms. I sit down in the waiting room in my usual seat by the fish tank. I watched the fish in the saltwater tank and I saw many species that I saw just two weeks ago in Australia. I found “Nemo” and “Dori” and wonder if I’ll ever go to an aquarium again without looking for those two. I think about my girls and know that I am privileged to be their mother.
Nuclear Radiology Nurse #2 came to get me today, and we had idle conversation about vacation spots while he gave me a blood sugar test, confirmed I’d fasted as directed, and then injected me with a radioactive isotope that marinated in my system. I wore nothing with metal so I could skip the hassle and the anonymity of the hospital gown. I anticipate his movements, and breeze through the procedural steps.
After an hour of marinating, I was directed to the CT/PET machine. I lay on a horizontal board four feet off the ground with my feet pointed at two large donuts standing on end. As I lay in the table, my arms are above my head, and I press my hands together in a posture of prayer. I hold still while the first donut takes CT images of my physiology, and continue to hold still as I move in through the second donut which tracks how the isotope moves through my system. As the table underneath me moves me through the machines, I pray for each body part as it is encircled. I focus on the organs that breast cancer can spread to: lymph nodes, skin, brain, lungs, liver, and bones.
I finish the scan and make my exit. The saxophonist is no longer at his station and I miss his presence. I pass a whole lot of bald, obviously sick people, and I think: I am healthy. I am strong. I am brave.
Results come from Nurse Practitioner Rockstar; she is Dr. Wonderful’s right hand gal. She tells me that there is a spot in my lung that we need to biopsy. And, until that test is done, we know nothing else. I choose not to ask her questions because I’ve been through this scenario a few times before. If A then B, if C then D, if E then F–these are not helpful answers. I will wait for the test. I will pray.
Whenever I want to worry, I pray instead. Worry is futile, prayer is powerful: this I believe wholeheartedly.
Tonight I asked Jesus to come before the needle of the biopsy and to smite any cancer cells.
Remember, He did that once before with my spine.
Remember, He did that a second time with my liver.
By His grace, I AM a miracle, and what He has done cannot be undone. I trust that God is good at all times. I trust God with this body, this life, my family. We are all His, and His alone.
I have the lung biopsy tomorrow (Friday) at 11:00am. Would you consider praying at that time: that the cells are gone, they are transformed, they are vaporized, they are good.
Results take 3 business days, so we won’t know anything until the middle of next week. What we do know is that God’s got this. My vision is to pray and to be peaceful. Brad and I have a vision of doing some fun family activities and making some memories with our beautiful girls this weekend.
I ask that you do not worry. Please pray instead. Or, if you’re not they praying type, do something that makes you happy. Be a relentless joy-seeker. Make a memory. Do something spontaneous. Perform a random act of kindness.
Whatever you do, do not worry. Matthew says, “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” –Matthew 6:27
Join me and simply Do Today Well.
That is doable. Thank you for your prayers and positive thoughts.