The Big C (again)

I put it off for a year.  My first inclination when dealing with things that distress me, for better or for worse, is flight.  When the thing you fear is actually something you carry around with you, getting away is more than a little hard.

My doctor tells me that some of the symptoms I've been having lately could be indicators of cancer.  He's the sweetest person in the world, and the very last to wave a panic flag.  However, I have known for some time that my condition was changing and not for the better.  It wasn't exactly a surprise that something bad might be lurking.

It's an odd thought, though.  It's like my own body has turned enemy.  Why is that even possible?  Shouldn't all the bits and pieces play together nicely?

Now begins the long run of tests, scans, and procedures.  And the waiting.  The glorious, terrible, soul-eating waiting.

There will be waiting in doctors' offices.  There will be waiting in labs for needles which will withdraw vials of blood.  There will be waiting on padded tables covered with crinkly paper.  There will be waiting in loosely-tied, mostly too-small cotton gowns, feeling that terrible mix of being exposed and being vulnerable.  There will be waiting for procedures.  There will be waiting for test results.

Even though I know all of this is ahead of me and that there's a chance that much worse may follow, I am calm, maybe calmer than I've been in a long time.  Maybe that's because I'm not running from it anymore.  There is a peace that has come from turning to face the demon.  I'm sure there's a lesson to be learned in that, one that I may need in the days to come.