Another month has gone by and tomorrow Austin has yet another ultrasound. He’ll get to go to school in the morning and then we’ll head straight down for labs and tests to check on the liver and, of course, our organ of choice — the kidney. I’m assuming things will be fine but I have always assumed things will be fine, even when they turn out anything but. So we’re ready, I guess, as ready as we can be, aware that our gloriously normal lives could change on a dime.

Whoosh — back and forth, from the land of the healthy and the living to the land of the deathly and the dying. It could happen on any day in any moment. When you’re deep in the dark netherworld of cancer, you can’t imagine ever finding your way out, ever emerging from that dank, futureless place as a whole person. And then when you’re out of it, you can’t imagine ever being thrust back in there; you’re just a regular person doing regular person things, with regular person worries and, cancer — real, deadly, third time around cancer — is just not on your calendar.

No room for that. Nope, not this time.

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  1. Barbara
    Barbara says:

    Krissy, good luck tomorrow. I’ll be thinking about you and Austin. Abby just had her follow-up scans, and I almost passed out when the ultrasound tech left the room for fifteen minutes, and finally came back with the “attending” physician – that’s always a bad sign, when the attending walks in the room, isn’t it. But it turned out she “just wanted to check on something” – so I looked at her straight in the eye and said “are you seeing something on the scan that is worrisome” and she said no, and it honestly did turn out to be nothing. But there’s just that panic – with every scan, every test. Good luck – just one step at a time and you’ll get through it – and I agree – there’s just no room for any more cancer! Barbara

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