That darn fear...

I'm currently in the throes of Holy Week preparation. I think every pastor I know absolutely loves Holy Week. This is the whole reason for what we do, the holiest time of the year (aptly named then, huh?), the time when we dramatically remember the spectacular love that God has for humanity, that God would make such a personal sacrifice on our behalf... It truly is extraordinary, and I love every bit of it.

But I also think every pastor I know can't wait for it to be Easter. Because for all the wonder and amazement and holiness of Holy Week, the lead up and the week of are really super exhausting, and that day after Easter is such a welcome relief.

This year is a little different for me. I am looking forward to Easter and the day after Easter, definitely, not just for the above reasons but also because Easter Monday is the day we ended up scheduling my bridal shower (the only day my best friend, my mom, and my aunt who is hosting were all available - believe it or not, my schedule was the most flexible!). May sound strange, but I can't think of a better way to spend the day after my most exhausting couple of weeks than having a party with some of my favorite people!

But I'm also sort of dreading that day, because in the morning of April 1, I have my first follow-up MRI, my first 6-month check up. First of all MRIs are terrible, and lonely, and they are in the dark basement of the hospital, and I spend a lot of time waiting in a waiting room where my friends/family can't come, and I have to fast before (gah, right after I will have finished Lenten fasting!), and last time the IV was really hard to get in and left a bruise, and last time I had an MRI it led to a cancer diagnosis. Beyond the Monday MRI, I also have a mammogram (and maybe an ultra sound?) the following Wednesday, and an appointment with the nurse practitioner. And although I love my doctors, and will look forward to giving them a save-the-date and inviting them all to our Rochester wedding celebration, I am absolutely dreading this.

Why? I have done more cancer follow-up appointments than I can count. I went in every 3 months for a couple years after Hodgkin's, and that was an hour drive, so much worse. I continued annual appointments for 13 years, and while they weren't my favorite thing to do, I was never worried about it. I did fine at my 3 month appointment this time around. What's different now?

It's what I said above: "I was never worried about it." I never had reason to worry. Hodgkin's has such a high cure rate, I was never worried about these appointments - they were just a chance to pop in to the infusion room and say hello to the nurses, to see the funny guy named Heino who did my pulminary function tests, to greet Dr. West (my oncologist) and update him on my life. At my 3-month appointment this year, it was too soon after everything else to really feel like it was a follow-up, or to fear that anything more could have developed. I was never worried about it.

But now, I'm worried about it. A couple reasons for this. One is that I have been feeling pain in my affected breast. My fears about this were relieved somewhat when I talked to another young survivor who said her lumpectomy site still hurts two years later, and at unpredictable times. But feeling a pretty regular pain, and much worse pain when it is touched (like when Klaus stations himself right on top of me when I'm on the couch or in bed), does not keep this relief away for long.

The other reason is that the stakes are just so much higher now. Back when I was making decisions about mastectomy or not, you may remember, I sort of "decided not to decided," but what I really decided was to hope nothing more would happen, and if it did, then we would take care of it. That is, if this happened twice, I would be convinced to get the mastectomy. Meanwhile, I could certainly get married and maybe even have a kid or two before I would have to think seriously about cutting off my boobs. Confident in my ability to take good care of myself and keep cancer away (like I've been so good at this in the past... my record sucks, frankly), this seemed like a sensible path to take, and one that could very well result in keeping my body intact for the rest of my life. I was secure in that.

Then last night I had a dream. Somehow I had decided that I would get a mastectomy - maybe because cancer had appeared again? I'm not sure. The only part of the dream I remember very clearly was being on the operating table, having the last few words with the doctors before surgery begins, and then I was sobbing, absolutely sobbing and begging them not to take my breast. (It was only one side in the dream.) They questioned me and I just kept saying, "I can't do it! Don't do it!" Then I fell asleep (in the dream) and woke up to find that they didn't do it, citing my unstable mental/emotional state as the reason for postponing surgery. And I remember they were very disappointed in me for this immature and cowardly display. And I felt terrible. That was the end.

Needless to say, this has not calmed me down at all about my appointments the week after Easter.