It’s Not Cancer!

So, if you’ve been around for a few months, I don’t need to mention that I had a recent health scare…but I am anyway. It’s one of the reasons I did the A to Z blog challenge thing — it gave me something to do every night other than obsess over the horror that might be awaiting me.

I won’t go into the specific symptoms, but something happened that sent me to the ER, horrified and in the throes of a panic attack. They thought it was something simple, gave me pills, sent samples off to my regular doctor, and told me to call her in a few days to get the results. The results were negative, meaning they didn’t know what it was.

I made an appointment with my doctor where the word “cancer” was uttered as a very real possibility. My doctor told me I would be very, very young to have this type of cancer (about two decades), but it was very possible and if it wasn’t that, there were other very unpleasant possibilities. I was sent to a specialist.

The specialist was busy. I didn’t get to see him for a fucking MONTH. Imagine that for a moment. Cancer is a possibility. You want to find out right away, but you can’t. So, you wait, hoping that your death isn’t growing inside of you. Try not thinking about that almost every waking moment.

I went to the specialist who confirmed that I would ruin the Bell curve if it was cancer, but it isn’t unheard of. I was to have a CT scan and a rather invasive, painful test after that to see what it was. I made my next appointment for the painful test. When was that appointment? A month later.


The doctor’s words were comforting, and he is a competent, able doctor, but his words were not enough. I had the CT scan and waited. My friends told me that no news was good news. Sounds good, right? Wrong. When I called, the doctor hadn’t even looked at my results. He called me back about 25 minutes later, just before I was about to launch into a serious panic attack, my little sense of comfort totally gone.

The CT scan showed nothing. No signs of tumors, lesions, cancer, nothing. He still wanted to do the painful test, which would seem sadistic, but it was to be 100% sure. I wouldn’t accept anything less. We hung up and my legs went weak. I nearly cried.

I had the painful test two days ago. It doesn’t need to be spoken of other than to say that it was negative. There was seemingly nothing wrong with me. The horrid symptom that sent me screaming to the ER was likely what they diagnosed it as. That the results of the test were negative suggests that it wasn’t done properly or that I’m some freak of nature and was already fighting whatever it was.

I’m fine, though I think I aged seven years in the two months it took for this ordeal to unravel.

And now my friends are calling me Wolverine, saying that I have his healing power. This is not the first time that my body has baffled doctors and I have bounced back with astounding rapidity. I would prefer Jean Grey’s powers, but I’ll take it.

Now, my life is no longer on pause. I can move forward. It gives new perspective, this type of scare. I’d rather it come another way, but I’m okay, and that’s what matters.


~ by Darren Endymion on July 3, 2014.

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