Feelings

So yesterday, I'm visiting my E/N/T doc to check up on things in preparation for chemo and rads, which start the week of June 15th.

Dr. Chuma and I are going over where we've been over the last couple of months, and he's trying to open as many avenues of conversation as he can: is there anything Randy needs to know or wants to talk about at this cusp in his healing journey? (This guy is good. Have I mentioned that before?)

I happen to mention the 7mm whatever-it-is that showed up on the MRI -- the last scan that I'd had performed. (Yes, it might be residual primary tumor. Yes, it might be an inflamed lymph node. Yes, it might be a result of the neck surgery he performed on me in May.)

And all of a sudden, Dr. Chuma pulls on a pair of purple latex gloves and puts one hand inside my mouth and the other on the outside of my cheek. He goes ever so carefully over every available area where residual primary tumor may still be lurking. His two hands are mirroring each other so that he can gently touch everywhere -- feeling, but not quite squeezing the cheek tissue between his right- and left-hand fingers. Probing for the whatever-it-is. It's a very thorough examination, and I'm with him every moment, trying to feel inside the skin whatever he is feeling from the outside.

When he's satisfied that he's examined this tissue as completely as he can, he pulls off the gloves and discards them. He looks at me and says, "I can't feel a thing in there." And neither can I.

(We can take a short break here while you try to imagine the relief I feel. Okay, we can take a long break, too.)

Now that 7mm whatever-it-is may still be there and we both just missed it. And it may have disappeared (the "inflamed lymph node that settled down" scenario). And whether or not it is still there, rads and chemo may or may not be effective in assuring that the cancer will not recur.

But for one precious moment after months of feeling diseased, I feel healthy.

And grateful. For everything and everyone.