The Waiting

     I talked a little bit about the anxiety that scan week brings on in my last post.  Today is results day.  We’ve already met with Jay’s urologist and he’s a really amazing practitioner, and he always gives us hope.  Today we meet with his wonderful Oncologist and this is always the hardest appointment of this mess.  We hope and pray that it’s going to be all smooth sailing.   After his scans we usually spend the weekend doing fun things to take our minds off of the stress, but by Monday, it’s an emotional hangover of avoiding the inevitable. We DO still have to know what the results of every scan and lab test are. We still have to spend the entire day trying to keep our stomachs from churning.    It’s a somber day in our house regardless of what we try to do to keep our minds off of everything.
    I have such a strong love-hate relationship with the oncologists office. I’m so thankful that these people literally saved my husbands life.  That these nurses loved on us while we missed our babies and Jay had lifesaving “poison” pumped through his veins for 8 hours a day while I idly sat by, wringing my hands, picking at my cuticles, keeping tabs on the nurses, trying to force feed Jay, and having to control my desperate need to scream and cry.  I still fight back tears when we walk through the door.  I sadly smile at people hoping they got the news they wanted to hear.   I usually can’t talk to Jay or look at him.   It’s all this total rush of emotional distress.   All these people dealing with the exact same emotions, and yet; we all sit calmly by, pretending to not be churning stomachs and racing hearts.
     The waiting is the worst.   You wait for the Day to arrive, and then the appointment time. You wait for the call back to the room, and then you wait for the doctor to come in.   You hang on every. Single. Word. He says.  Waiting - on some kind of indicative word as to what the results say. Y’all the anticipation is so thick that you feel like you might drown in it. But you sit and pretend that you’re calm and collected. That’s what’s required.  That’s what’s acceptable.  We’re waiting now, just like you are.

The waiting finally came to an end and all is well in the world again. Even if for just a minute.  We’ll breathe a sigh of relief for the next two months and three weeks.  Until the next scan week comes knocking on our door and the demon of worry raises it’s snarling face into ours for what seems like an eternity.



Thank you for all your prayers and well wishes.