The results.

We were led down the hallway as we always are towards one of the small windowless exam rooms at the oncology clinic. Whenever I do this walk I'm reminded of how terrible my timing was for getting cancer. I'm just missing the brand spanking new cancer clinic being built up the road with state-of-the-art bright and shiny hallways and high ceilings to jazz up these weekly walks of hope and dread - Fall 2022. Then again, maybe the timing is perfect. These narrow, winding fluorescent-lit hallway caves are the mood to match my general scary appointment-time vibe. I didn't expect to meet my oncologist in the cave shaft (my new fave two-word sentence for hallways and, you know, other things) where he handed me a piece of paper. I see it immediately. Oregon Advanced Imaging. He's just handed me my results to the PET scan just as we were lead into the exam room for our nurse Q&A. Welp, I guess this is like our in-flight magazine with less of a ‘hey! You would LOVE Clevland ya’ll - it’s, like, totally neat here and I promise you won’t be bored’ and with more of a ‘murder mystery: will she live or die’ light reading to do before our appointment. Him handing this to us then walking away is good news, right? Right? RIGHT?!?!

Late night hospital time alone with heavy chairs and lots of medical bins.

Before we had a chance to WebMD all the words we didn't understand, the doc breezed into the room. The gist:

No evidence of cancer remains in my abdomen.

No evidence of cancer in the other lymph nodes.

Treatment is working, this is great news.

I will continue forward with 4 more cycles of R-EPOCH and LP chemo.

We're not reducing my treatment as my cancer moves aggressively.

Compared to typical lymphoma, mine has a high chance of returning, around 70%.

Once the full 6 cycles are completed I’ll do another PET scan. If we see the same results, I'll be in remission.

We will do an exam and a scan every 2-3 months from there.

We powered straight through to logistics for my hospital stay: the doctor on call, which room I was in, using lidocaine to numb my chest to make accessing my port less painful, getting Lasix early so I don't gain so much water weight that makes it difficult for me to breath. You know, just super casual chit-chat. He examined me, told me I was doing great, and it was back into the fluorescent cave shaft (mmmm) for our journey to the hospital to begin cycle 3 with a quick pitstop at home to pick up bags, have a snack, and figure out how the fuck to package up what we just heard to share it with our eagerly awaiting parents.

"Okay. Okay. Sooo...you're...good then?"

"Yes, the news we hoped for, the best-case scenario."

"Wow, oh my goodness, what a relief, thank God."

"Yes, it's such a relief."

Does that read like an AI robot voice? That's because it sounded like that, at least in my head. I have this super-inconvenient character trait where I cannot lie which becomes more inconvenient when I'm in any position of triaging my urge to tell the whole picture of honesty vs highlighting the relevant, short-term, good bits. Then there is the whole I-haven't-processed-this-even-1%-factor. When the emotions are murky, stick to the facts. Less is more.

Okay. Now what.

Do I...celebrate? Do I start planning my future life? Do I create a plan to go back to work, to travel, to train again? CAN I even run with the whole 'this mix of drugs can damage your heart' warnings? I thought I was supposed to very clearly be feeling happy, to be at peace, to feel powerful, to feel SOMEthing.

I've been here before. Well, not exactly here but here in the sense that I thought getting something I wanted would bring me happiness or clarity but when I got it I still felt lost, still remained the same.** At least for a little while. That feeling, as all feelings are, is temporary. Clarity will come and it will leave and it will shapeshift. This is not a black and white story of life or death, that is how I’m processing what the oncologist shared, at least today, as I write this. I don't know what this story will be, what part of this era I'm in, and which parts of me I'll carry forward into whatever my future holds. I’ve adjusted to the rage. Rage that this happened, and rage to live, is my fuel for truth, and raw truth has become my home. I’ve adjusted to suffering and suffering well. How do I mine that deep without suffering? Without rage? It’s these questions that feel urgent, much more vital than planning my glamorous trip to Cleveland.

What DO I know? That the dark ceiling is cracking and glimmers of hope are busting through. Glimmers of hope and undeniable, overwhelming gratitude for all the friends and family from on this plane of existence and beyond who have cried with me, walked with me, loved me, read poems to me, shared light, prayers, gifts, long hugs, well wishes, and love in the language as they can give it.

I’m filled with gratitude that maybe I can begin asking the unanswered questions of living and living is looking mighty promising.

Footnotes:

**I hit a number on the scale this week that I'd had written down as a goal since the 7th grade. I remember standing outside the entrance to the St. Matthews church basement on the last day of school devising a plan with my friend Kristin that we'd do Slim Fast all summer to hit this magic number. Since that day, for nearly 30 years, I've carried that number like Jacob Marley's chains through resolutions and Monday morning "fresh start" goal spreadsheets. Today I hit it and, guess what? Nothing is different. It doesn't matter. We all know I'm not healthier. What a waste of time. I mourn the years lost asking my body to be different. I’m furious - but it’s not my fault and it’s not yours either. Trying to free yourself from the enemy that is diet culture and fatphobia? Read THIS and THIS and THIS. Watch THIS. Listen to THIS and THIS. Follow HER and HER and HIM. Begin to take the brave steps to step off the ladder constructed by capitalism, racism, and sexism. Buying into diet culture’s bullshit is the only area of my life where I hold regret. Stories for another time.

2019, basking in negative ions the day before suffering joyfully through the Oregon Coast 50k. Will this girl from the beach return there in mind and body again? I can’t wait to work that out.