The test that means so much takes such little time. Well, there’s the preparation time which takes longer. You have to drink that stuff they give you, in two installments. Then 45 minutes after drinking the second drink, they take you to disrobe (everything but underwear and socks), put on hospital pants and gown, and then go into the CT scan room. The tech was so sweet and gentle, calling me “honey,” probably just because he didn’t know my name. Funny, but I don’t seem to mind when they call me endearments anymore.

The machine tells you when to hold your breath, when to let it go. It didn’t take long at all. The MUGA scan that I had earlier today, the scan that’s to tell them how my heart is doing, took much longer. I’m not worried about that test at all, mostly because my oncologist isn’t worried about it. She said that the regimen that I’m on isn’t typically hard on the heart.

But the CT scan is the big test, the one that will see how big or small the tumors are, how well they’ve responded to the chemo, how much (or little) they’ve shrunk.

As we started driving to our next destination, silent tears fell down my cheeks. I couldn’t help it. I wish I had the faith that this morning’s scripture verse talked about, I wish I could be more faithful, more believing, stronger, more . . . . something. But the truth is that I’m damn scared. I’m just really really scared. I know I have too much riding on these results, but I can’t help it. I just can’t.

I want them to be good results. I want there to have been a great deal of progress. I want this fucking disease to start going AWAY.

I haven’t even been living with it for very long but it’s turned my whole life upside-down, it’s made my future into a bunch of “what if’s?” and “I don’t know if I’ll be around for . . . ” and wondering about my little boy and feeling scared about him losing another mother and I try to keep these demons at bay, I TRY and most of the time I succeed but not all the time. The times when I don’t succeed are the scariest times ever, I just can’t tell you how agonizing those times are, I honestly just can’t even come close to explaining it; then again, why would I want people to know what kind of horror it is?

I wish I had the strength of those people you hear about, read about, see on the news, the people who don’t let fear get in their way, who just keep on.

But I guess I don’t and I guess I’m just scared.

I’ll get the results sometime later this week.

Until then — maybe after, depending on what the results are — I’ll probably be scared.

Just scared.

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