It’s funny what I’m afraid of and not afraid of. Surgery followed by six months of chemotherapy gave me a lot of negative experiences and emotions, but it didn’t make me very afraid. Don’t get me wrong, I had a lot of fears through that period, including my recurring fear that I’m dying, or that I’d never be myself again after chemo. But not the mind-numbing, nigh hysterical panic that I call “the Fear”.
That one seems to be reserved for times of uncertainty. Like, say, when I have a CT scan imminent (this coming Friday) to see if there are further metastatic tumors that chemo did not put down. Or an oncology consult (next Monday) to discuss said CT scan. And for some reason, I tend to focus on the scans as the frightening part, when in fact all you do is go into a little room and lie still for while as a machine makes funny noises. A CT scan is kind of like bad sex — a brief, boring, pointless time spent horizontal, wondering what the heck you’re doing there.
You’d think the oncology consult would be the panic point, since that’s where the truth is sung. But no, me, I get hung up on the tech. I’m not having the Fear today, or at least right now, but I can hear it sniffing around in the psychic distance.
I want to be clean. If I have to face surgery again, that won’t weird me out too much, because surgery is a one-time event that you then get over. But if I have to face chemo again… ah. You will see some true rage and panic from me.
There’s a lot of emotion driving me into this Friday’s test. And it’s a test, as well as an emotional pinchpoint, that I’ll have to go through every three months, possibly for years.
Sometimes I wish I was stronger.