Radiologist

On the eve of seeing my radiologist for the first time in a year I’m a little pensive.

Am I worried he’ll find something?

Maybe.

Am I worried he’ll just give a quick exam that couldn’t find anything even if there was something to be found?

Possibly.

I like this doctor just fine but he’d the one of the many doctors I see who reminds me each time I see him that I’m a chunkalunk. He’s suggested I go on the Mediterranean diet.

He’s the one who made me think that, because of the above mentioned chunkalunkiness, I’m to blame for my cancer. I don’t think he meant to make me feel that but it happened all the same.

I want to be healthy. I want him to give me a thorough exam and declare me fit as a chubby fiddle.

I’ve been walking for a half hour each night for almost three weeks. That’s something ,right?

I guess, after all the excellent care I got while going through treatments over a year ago, I’ve felt a bit adrift over the past year. Sure, I’ve seen my surgeon, my chemo oncologist and my gynecologist each twice in the past year, that doesn’t compare to the weekly appointments I was having back in the thick of treatment.

I’m grateful for the reprieve but also feel lost knowing we’re not currently actively fighting cancer.

Sure, there’s probably not any cancer in my body to fight but…what if there is? What if we’re just sitting around, going about our days and cancer, that insidious bastard, is just there, in my body, throwing a party and inviting all its cousins to come over and start colonies in my liver and my lungs?

What if?

That’s the big unknown, right? And we all know that the sooner we know the better but as long as I’m ignorant of any problems, I can pretend that I’m fine.

And honestly, I’m probably fine. The odds are that I’m fine.

Of course, when I think that, my stupid mind goes to the fact that the odds of Olivia having 5p- syndrome were 1 in 50,000.

The odds of me having breast cancer were 1 in 8.

So…yeah.