Truth or Consequences?

This (photo) was my home away from home for six months. Today I made a return trip.

As I walked into the crowded area, I saw them - the elderly, the zoomers, the boomers and the bloomers. I could tell the expressions - the fear-filled new cancer patients clutching their little piece of appointment tell-tale paper and sporting the deer in the headlight look; the seasoned pros who knew exactly what to do and where to go because they have been coming for chemotherapy for two years; the pale ones with the hats and the bandanas and no eyelashes trying to be brave and make sense of cancer as they try to settle in to the routine of chemotherapy.

The memories surged back and I wanted to jump on the banister and demand everyone's attention. I wanted to rally the troops and tell them all to trust God- that He is doing a great work in all of us and if only we could be united in our faith then the encouragement and love would carry us through.

But I chickened out. I didn't even go near the bannister. Instead I, too, clutched my appointment sheet, my binder with the questionairre and tried to gather my marbles as I sat down like a good little cancer patient.

Gilles and I were eventually paged to come to the examination room. This was supposed to be my three month check-up. The one where I leave with lifted spirits and a big checkmark by my name indicating that all is well. It didn't happen. We spent almost an hour with the doctor, but by the time we left we were still wondering what we would tell everyone. There was no bloodwork done. No CAT scan ordered. No encouraging words implying 'we think you're pretty well cured.' I had a physical examination which did not indicate anything was amiss. But the information we received said there is a '50/50' chance that my cancer can return. I have to stay tuned for any further symptoms, but for the most part it is a waiting game.

The magic 5 years, is the time for rejoicing, they say. If I have been symptom-free for five years, then I have beaten cancer. So wait, I will. I will attend my 3 month checkups and keep keen about my body and anything untoward. I suppose I wanted something tangible, though; something to share with friends and family, to tell them Yahoo! Sigh.

Even though there's no 'yahoo,' I'm thinking I can find six quick reasons to rejoice. Let's see. Yup. Here they are:

1) After my check-up I picked Cindy up at Thameswood Lodge to take her for her radiation treatment; then we went to Tim Horton's and I'm surprised we weren't kicked out for laughing so much. Cindy, who I met during my first chemo, is fast becoming a bit of a kindred spirit. And she doesn't even care that I'm a hundred years older than she is!

2) Gilles goes with me to the cancer clinic even though I know he hates doing it. He also has to be my sounding board when I get all menopausal and delusional. And he still brings me tea every morning (in bed).

3) Trevor and Janice are going to have a beautiful little healthy baby. Trevor felt his sweet one move for the first time yesterday. Apparently every time Janice eats ice-cream the little angel wriggles.

4) Jason and Amanda have the most gorgeous children and they always share them with me. I get unlimited spoiling privileges and everytime Trenton and Jocelyn come to visit grandma, I hardly ever remember I have been battling ovarian cancer.

5) Today when I whacked that guy's mirror with my car door, he was so sweet about it. He even thanked me for wiping it off. I told him I was wiping away the evidence.

6) God has blessed me with friends galore. That would be you!

See that wasn't difficult. And there's a thousand more reasons to rejoice. So what if I don't know any more now than when I went in to the examination room today. Nobody's gonna' stop me from rejoicing when I want to. Love you all. xx