I know that none of us knows how long we have, but it’s very different when you have a serious disease. I try my best to enjoy the time between scans and hope like crazy that the next scans will show that I may have more time.

With all that’s going on in the world that is tragic, it is an odd place to be in. Perhaps I should not be so concerned with my own survival. And yet that is instinctive–to survive. Everything within me wants to live.

Anyhow, the kids’ birthdays are coming up along with Thanksgiving and then Christmas–not to mention painting–so my days are busy. Sometimes I end up dealing with it at night as I try to sleep.

However, I had my PET/CT scan, brain MRI, and seventh (7th!) colonoscopy in October. All results were good. So there is every reason to hope for some healthy time now and ahead.

More art:

Inlet

Field 2

Reservoir

On the Rocks

Bless that hospital radiology dept and my oncologist for getting me those results so quickly. It’s difficult to wait.

I kept reminding myself to remain quiet, to dwell in peace. But it’s like trying to keep a lid still over a boiling pot. (Sorry, that’s the only metaphor, lame as it is, that I can think of right now.) I would rather know what that test shows, and the sooner the better.

So I’m very happy. I’m off to Reiki now and Gail, my dear practitioner. Bliss!

Because I felt better about the scan, I was able to enjoy a hike on Saturday with Cliff, and we went for a bike ride on Sunday. When I do those kinds of things, I’m exhausted for the rest of the day. But it’s so wonderful to exercise outside that it’s worth it.

I’ve been doing rough sketches this past week. I took a long fireplace-style matchstick and dipped it in ink and drew with it. It’s hard to control but certainly loosens you up! I sat on a blanket on the lawn in the shade, nestled the ink bottle in among the grass blades, and drew. Nice way to spend part of the afternoon.

The cat is asleep on my forearms as I type, so I’ll quit now, as this is getting uncomfortable (although the cat is snoozing quite comfortably — his head bobs up and down as I type).

Well, that’s what the scan is for—to find out what’s going on. I still go into the chemo ward every other week for an infusion of Avastin, but that’s the extent of my treatment right now.

There are so many difficulties and tragedies in the world that it seems trivial to worry about a CT scan result. Yet, when something threatens our life, we are usually determined—instinctively—to fight it.

And I am.

Today during a quiet time I remembered this bit of wisdom:  “What is, is.”

And I realized that the scan in itself is nothing in fear. The results are non-emotional; the scanner is just recording what is.

I am making peace with what is. If cancer shows up on the scan, I will have treatment options. If it doesn’t show up, I will be relieved. The scanner is only recording what it sees.

And monitoring “what is” may save my life.