I was more than a little nervous about the results of my recent brain MRI. I needn’t have been: the films were clear; no detectable cancer. (Insert sigh of relief here.) As a family member put it, “they took pictures of your brain and found nothing there.” . . .
The films were obviously good news. At the same time, they also frustrate me: I have a nonstop headache, my right leg hurts more than it ever has, and I’m at least a little nauseous all the time—often more than a little. The headache I can deal with. Back pain, sciatica, and I are old friends; much as I hate it, I can handle that pain too. I’m good at pain. Nausea is another matter. It wears me down, interferes with work and with family life. Worse, it mystifies my docs, which means it won’t disappear anytime soon.
I’m pleased and relieved to know that my life won’t be ending as soon as I expected. And I well understand that the last portion of that life probably won’t be pretty: cancer deaths are a nasty business. All of which is OK. But I had hoped to have some time when I felt like I did before cancer entered my life—like I felt when my only health problem was chronic pain in my back and right leg. (“Only” doesn’t really fit in that sentence.) I haven’t seen that time yet. I hope it’s out there somewhere.