Recently I've had visions of my old friend, Lab Coat Guy, who administered my radioactive iodine treatment a few years ago to drop an atom bomb on my thyroid cancer. I have had a few good laughs over the good times we shared when he cautiously gave me a radioactive- let's swallow that one again together "ra-di-o-ac-tive"- pill and stepped away to let me ingest all of its glory. For some sick reason, I found it all amusing at the time. Maybe my old blog will remind you why. You can find it here if you are just dying to know: http://awashel.blogspot.com/2011/02/radio-acto-girl-on.html.
I have been going through my yearly testing, which is probably the reason my subconscious has been bringing up Lab Coat Guy. I guess it was figuring I might be seeing him again soon. My subconscious may have been onto something.
After two weeks of waiting, I got word from my doc last night that things weren't looking good. The numbers continue to rise... numbers for thyroid cells as well as the antibodies fighting them. It's like my own personal army rising up in my neck. How special am I? I know you are jealous.
So mid-panic attack already (another story for another time) I got the "you just won the cancer lottery" email from my doc. I realize I might be a little dramatic here, throwing the word "cancer" around since my doc has avoided using that term rather nicely. She was able to say we will check my levels again in August and then blast me with some more radiation if it continues to go in that direction. Well, she didn't say "blast" exactly, but I think that word does the trick.
So my mind has been a little distracted, but I think I am doing ok. I immediately went into spiritual reflection, since I firmly believe there is always something God is trying to tell me in any trial I face. I told Him I know He is in control, a little word that makes me flinch a little when the control freak in me growls and bares her teeth. Funny, I was ok with saying He had control until the thought of ever leaving my kids came to mind. That caused more than a mere flinch- more like a back handspring over the Grand Canyon. I can never leave my kids.
I came home from work (yes, I got the news at work) and kissed their sleeping faces and prayed all would be well again. I know-at least I think I know- the thought of dying from cancer is a rather dramatic thought at this point. I get that. But it's the thought that plagues me. I can't leave Rowen. He needs me. I can't leave Lane. He won't remember me.
Again, dramatic, but it's my reality check.
Rushing around this morning and getting my boys ready for school, my little Lane was standing on top of the toilet waiting for me to brush his teeth when he held his arms out wide, closed his eyes, and said "hug and kiss." I stopped the frenzy for a moment while holding the toothbrush I was getting ready to jam into his mouth (we were late) and leaned in to give him a big hug. It was just the pause I needed in my harried rush to become grounded once again. It's the same thing I am always looking for from Jesus, if I would just put the toothbrush down and fall into His arms. I can do this again if I need to. I can do anything through Him who gives me strength. Even if it involves Lab Coat Guy.
