I decided, with conviction and zeal, that 2013 is going to be my year.
I was tired of the cancer crap and everything that comes with it: the fatigue, the worry, the fear. So I made a decision. That next year, 2013, was going to be mine.
I was going to own it.
But before making 2013 my bitch, I had to get through my fist post-remission PET Scan since my recurrence last summer. It's hard to start the year off in warrior mode with a looming scan on the horizon. I tried not to fret too much about this one. After all, it's routine by now. I've done these scans so regularly for the last 14 months, it seems like my new norm.
But this scan is a big deal.
In the last year, I've been diagnosed and in remission, then diagnosed and again in remission. If the pattern were to hold true, it means it was time to be diagnosed again. The fact is, since first being told "you have cancer" I've never received two clean scans in a row.
And as much of a warrior as I pretend to be, that is a worrisome fact.
So yesterday, I went in for my first scan of the year. Trying to be more warrior than worrier, I took inspiration from one of cinema's greatest films: Cool Runnings. In an attempt to empower myself and spend more time wishing for the best rather than worrying about the worst, I took strength in repeatedly replaying this scene in my head:
But even Cool Runnings can't completely get rid of the worry.
Luckily an email from my doctor can. Yesterday afternoon, in the middle of my fretting and only hours after my scan, my worrying was interrupted with this one line from my radiologist:
"PET scan is perfect!"
And while I'm sure the worrying won't be gone forever, last night I got a pass. I got a bonus night where I got to sleep free of the "what ifs" regarding today's appointment. Thank you, doc for rescuing me from the stress of the unknown for an extra 24 hours.
Must be because I am a bad-ass mother who don't take no crap from nobody. 2013, don't mess with me.
This year is mine.