Today is one of those days I dread. I dread it because tomorrow I have a test. I wish I could tell you I was a student, but I am not. This test is not about my intelligence or skills and abilities; this test is about my health. I dread today because for today and until tomorrow afternoon, I am once again, a patient.
Being sick is dreadful. When you are sick you are constantly tired. Even after eight hours of sleep you wake up tired, worse than that you have no energy. And because you have no energy you have no motivations to do even those things you normally love doing. Instead you are tired. And then because you lack the energy and are too tired to do even the things you love, you become depressed. You have no real reason to be depressed, you have a job, good friends and a family that loves you, yet still you are depressed. And then you find the lump.
Now you agonize for an inordinate amount of time over what to do about this lump. You dread going to the doctor because she will just tell you what you already suspect - that you are sick. But eventually you do go to the doctor and she tells you that she would like you to get a biopsy. Biopsy is one of those words no one likes to hear because it rarely comes with a positive outcome. You do not get a biopsy to find out you are pregnant. You get a biopsy to determine which kind of cancer you have. And then you get a diagnosis.
And that is what you will call it from then on. My diagnosis was Hodgkin's Lymphoma. But you will rarely hear me utter those words; instead I only refer to it as "my diagnosis." Cancer is a tough word to beat, but even a cold has a diagnosis, so a diagnosis is beatable. Once a diagnosis has been made treatment begins, and life is never the same.
Life becomes one prescription and one doctor appointment after another, making small talk with the technicians and jokes with the nursing staff. I learned the joys of a freshly microwaved blanket, and the woes of what not to eat before chemo. And then, just as abruptly as these people came in and invaded my life they were gone. When the treatment was successful I was told I only needed to come in once every six months. Once every six months they test me to see if I am still in remission.
Once every six months I walk in to smiles and congrats from the technicians. The nursing staff tells me how wonderful I look. And there are hopeful glances from the other patients. And once every six months I drink their strange concoctions and lie in their tube while they take my pictures. There is no lump anymore, no lymphoma.
Sonya was not with me when I was a patient. She was, and in fact still is, part of my recovery. And Sonya is the reason I know I am no longer sick. Every day when I get home I have the energy and the strength to go with her. And every day she motivates me to do what I love - to walk with her. She brings me a reassurance no test or doctor ever could.
My diagnosis changed my life. But then life is full of changes, weddings, births, deaths, graduations, promotions, moves. It is what those changes bring that matter. My diagnosis eventually brought me peace of mind. As a kid I always wondered what kind of person I would be when I grew up. I found out I am a survivor.
Tomorrow afternoon, after I've drunk the concoction and lie in the tube and have my pictures taken, and after the technician congratulates me on three and a half years of remission, and after the nursing staff tells me they will see me again in six months, then the dread will be gone. And tomorrow afternoon I will once again be a dog-owner, a daughter, a sister, a co-worker, and a friend. Because tomorrow afternoon I will no longer be a patient, I will just be my normal self.
