Last year this time I was starting radiation therapy. On October 30th last year I even had radiation and chemo on the same day. It wasn’t nearly as difficult as you might expect, but I did experience more fatigue after that.

Today I am so grateful to be past chemo and radiation and well into my 5 years of endocrine therapy. I was diagnosed in January of 2022 and I really thought I would feel stronger by now. It just takes time.

I’ve had physical therapy to regain range of motion in my shoulder, but I was not making progress. Inflammation pain like bursitis can limit therapy. And when it hurts, the natural response is to get protective of it and resist the motion. But if you don’t stop protecting yourself from pain and push to extend your current limits, you don’t regain the range. (That’s a good metaphor for life – it’s completely natural to avoid pain.)

So my physical therapist suggested that I get an MRI.

I had the MRI Friday, Nov 27th and they found a soup of weirdness in my shoulder, thanks radiation. And they also happened to notice a nodule on my lung as well.

Ok, so what’s that about?!

I looked at My Chart and googled some things and freaked out a little. I do understand that finding cancer in the lungs would not be a good thing for me or anyone! I had the MRI on Friday morning, and I didn’t get a call walking me through the results until Monday.

That was a looooong weekend.

Do you like waiting when you’re anxious and uncertain about the news? Me either. That’s why I call it weighting. There’s a weight to waiting that is there in the background of life. It’s like the computer program that works in the background slowing down the whole system. It’s a real energy drain.

Well, after a conversation with my oncologist and the PA who had ordered the MRI, I realized it could just be scar tissue from radiation. They ordered a battery of other things, a visit with an orthopedic doctor, a CT scan, etc.

The CT scan was yesterday, October 10th. It’s an easy test. The CT machine is like a big donut with a bed that moves. All of it moves. And you don’t have the change clothing for it, it’s not magnetic. A CT scan works quite quickly and quietly, unlike an MRI which takes time and is super loud.

My vein blew when they put in the saline after the contrast. This produced a deep ache all the way up my arm, but the pain went away before long. And that’s very uncommon, so it’s unlikely that will happen to you if you have a CT. The lump created by all that liquid going under the skin is dissolving back into my body slowly. This morning it looks better but is a bit sore.

How long till I get the phone call explaining the results?

More waiting.

Last evening I decided not to dive into the My Chart results that are already in. And diving into the interwebs to look up big medical terminology is not going to help. The terminology about what it could be is always worst case scenario, until they rule things out with further testing. I’m not choosing ignorance, I am choosing to manage where my imagination is allowed to roam. There is a difference, however slight.

This uncertainty is part of the journey now. I was chatting with a cancer friend and she wondered aloud if we’ll always be waiting for any little discomfort to turn out to be another drama. She wasn’t wrong. I know people who are on their second round and who now have a metastatic cancer diagnosis. It happens. Will it happen to me? That’s something I pray about.

We can hold space for each other in the weighting.

I’m also surprised as I’m writing this with how many cancer friends I have right now. Not people I met in the hospital, but people in my life who have turned up with a diagnosis or a recurrence of an old diagnosis. It’s a club nobody wants to be in, but I think it’s really good that we have each other.

If you’re new to the journey and have a brand new diagnosis, please know that the first 60 days are the worst. Your schedule gets completely overrun with doctor appointments. At the beginning the terminology is tough. You may have to look up a lot of words or ask for definitions – which is normal. It takes a while to get your new equilibrium, but it does come. There is a life rhythm to chemo infusions and scheduling doctor visits and blood work. Believe it or not, it all gets pretty normal pretty quickly. Even the word “cancer” loses its zing.

I remember when my oncologist said that having cancer isn’t something that goes away when cancer cells are gone from your body. There is no such thing as getting back to normal. A post-cancer “normal” still means lots of time with doctors and medical technicians. Good thing I really like these people!

I really don’t love the weight of the wait. I don’t love the uncertainty. It has made concentrating on my studies more challenging. I’ve also applied for an interesting job recently, and I’m waiting to hear on that as well. Lots of waiting. Autumn is in the air, the seasons are changing.

I have just learned that my oncologist has looked at the results of the CT and feels that it is consistent with scaring from radiation therapy, not cancer. The fancy term is “radiation fibrosis”. That’s good news, and they’ll schedule me for another CT in 3 months. This is life after cancer. Watching and waiting – but I am not without hope!

So those 14 days of waiting to find out that a lung nodule (potential cancer) was just radiation scarring (whew) were long days. I am grateful for a medical team that is on point. I am grateful for insurance that covers the bill for my treatment. And I am grateful for the people who entertained me and helped me through these two weeks.

Hug my gent when you see him, he doesn’t like weighting either. He’s a marvel and I’m so grateful for him!

Sending love your way today, whatever you’re waiting for.

You are not alone.

“I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits, and in his word I put my hope.” -Psalm 130:5

-Carmen