What a Difference a Day Makes

Left foot. Right foot.

“What a difference a day makes ---

Twenty-four little hours

Brought the sun and the flowers

Where there used to be rain.” 

It was glorious, glorious to wake up on a sunny Saturday morning, June 5^th.  In spite of being terribly hung over after being over-served martinis the night before, I felt re-born!

     I can explain the martinis --- well, it WAS Friday night and I had something to toast and a lot of pent up anxiety to release.  I’d had a ct scan on Wednesday and an appointment to discuss it with my oncologist, Dr. Soo, at 10:20 Friday morning.  I was, of course, hoping for the best results, but dreading bad news.  It gets harder every time I have one of these scans to endure the wait.  For the eternity of three days I interpret every twinge as a sign that my next blog entry will be entitled “It’s Back!”   

     The medical assistant led me to the scale, which is located across from the nurses’ station in a sort of open hallway.  Being weighed is always a little more traumatic for me than the blood draw that precedes it.  Tanya is a very big nurse and I seem to detect a subtle scoff when I insist upon removing my shoes for the weight check.  For someone her size a couple of pounds worth of footwear wouldn’t make much of a difference, but for me it can color the day.  When you have cancer and have experienced unintended weight loss, it’s a novel sensation to step on the scale and be relieved when it registers a gain.  Those days of being encouraged and free to eat anything and everything I wanted felt  like going on a delirious bender.  But once my weight stabilized, it was hard to pick myself up, dust off the chocolate and get back in the saddle with my old healthier eating habits.  I think I’m there, plus a couple of extra pounds, which I attribute to middle-age, living in the land of beer and bacon and simply not giving a rat’s ass.  On Friday my weight was satisfactory.  As I bent over to put my shoes back on --- I thoughtfully wear shoes that are easy to slip in and out of to these appointments --- I felt a hand on my back and at the same instant saw a pair of masculine feet next to mine.  I stood up and faced my oncologist who smiled and said, “Scan looks good.  I just saw the report and I wanted you to know so you don’t have to wait any longer.”

     That was one of the finest moments in my life with cancer --- my doctor wishing to spare me ten more minutes of the agony of not knowing which way the scale would tip.

Comments

[Lin]

[isto é bom] As one who has lived through the agony of waiting and the crazy skull cinema that your head does to you during that period, I'm thinking I like that Dr. Soo, but not nearly as much as I like/love the results of your scan!

So bring on the sun baby. I'm going to be there soon!

[Rheatha]

[c’est top]

[Rheatha]

[c’est top] I'm reminded of an old Barry Manilow song (I can't believe I'm publicly admitting I ever listened to Barry Manilow), "I Made it Through the Rain." Some sun obviously has been getting through those clouds.

By the way, straight vodka has fewer calories than a martini!

[Julia Pepper]

I Love this so much!!!!Thank you Betsy, you made my day.Also makes me want to have a martini tonight,and I don't even drink martinis!Come back to visit us soon.xoxoxoJulia

[Jean Klein]

Hi Betsy, Yippie!  I am so glad to hear this news and sorry to have missed the martini celebration. Sometimes those over indulgent celebrations are soooo worth it. Big hugs and kisses to you.Jean :)

[Paté]

That was fantastic ( you are too ) xoxo

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