The Waiting Game

I have been diagnosised with stage one reoccurring cancer back in December of 2024, and did six months of Chemotherapy to treat it. It was a rough and trying path. I honestly thought I wasn’t going to make it. I know that seems a bit dramatic, but if one has read my other articles, you’d know. I’ve had blackouts, getting sick, in and out of the hospital. It was a scary time in my life where I didn’t know if I had the strength to go on. Last Wednesday I had gone and had a CT scan done to see where chemotherapy has left us. Is there cancer? Is the cancer gone?

I usually get a call within the same day of the scan, however this wasn’t the case this time. However, I do wonder if it was because I had told them that every time they call, I’m by myself, at work when they call. I thought this time would be the same because they’d rather let you know that you have cancer. I have an appointment on Tuesday to find out the path we are going to take from this point forward. However the real question is: do I have cancer or not?

The anxiety is building up inside me. I don’t know how I’ll feel on Tuesday if they tell me the cancer is still there. My whole world will crash again, and I honestly don’t know if I’ll have the strength to pick up the pieces again. I wanted this summer to be fun, exciting for the whole family. However, I know that it won’t happen this year. I know part of our original health plan was to get surgery scheduled once chemotherapy was over to remove the remaining part of my reproductive system. The last time I had surgery it took me three months to fully recover. Three months from now, the kids will be back at school, and fun time will be reserved to the weekends. It won’t be enough time for the things that I wanted to do.

The kids (they aren’t mine, but my sister’s) understand that Auntie is really sick, but they don’t know how much it really effects me. This entire time, I’ve put on my war paint and seem like I was okay. There were days were I would sleep for days on end, but that was because the medicine Auntie was on made her really sleepy. Though, some of those days, I really couldn’t get up and out of bed because the depression was too much. I couldn’t face their cute little faces while I was doom and gloom. I didn’t want to show them that Auntie really wasn’t okay. It’s been hard.

The thing is I don’t want to keep doing chemotherapy anymore. I don’t want to feel sick anymore. I want to be normal again. I want my hair back. I want my life back. I miss working, I miss seeing friends. I miss my photography more than anything. I miss meeting with clients and showing them the end results of their shoot. I need a feeling of normalcy. I hate that I have to be over careful on the places I go, wearing a mask as long as I can tolerate it. I hate feeling exposed. I don’t want to be a burden to my family any longer.

For now, we wait. It’s a waiting game until Tuesday. The anxiety is building. The thoughts are swirling and there is no way to stop them until Tuesday. The feelings I have won’t stop until Tuesday if there is good news. Tuesday will be a brand new day, and praying that it is good news.