Scan Day

I went for my scans yesterday.

I have to keep telling myself that no matter what I hear today, I will still come home and be with my family tonight.

Today is such a big day for us getting these results. No matter what I’m told, I still have hurdles to jump over and roads to travel.

Yesterday was a long day.

I prayed for peace and I received it.

My friend eileen told me to imagine that when I was in the tube, strapped in and the mask over my head wig warring and beeping and whizzing and banging…

To imagine that I was instead in Mary’s womb, a child of God, that Jesus was with me, and the constant beating I heard was Mary’s heartbeat. That I was safe and protected and never alone in there.

It worked.

I had the same man who always puts in the IV for the radioactive dye. We had a hard time last time, and I told him about the warm packs, but he said he didn’t want to admit defeat immediately. He managed to get it in first try (couldn’t use the port for these tests.). I became emotional when it was taped down, and I thanked him. He said he had the easy job, and mine was much harder. So true.

I had the same tech for the tests, and I told him we were 1-2 for results. One remission, two recurrences. He offered to get someone else to do it because we haven’t gotten good results the last two times together, but I told him that this time we would even the score.

I told him I actually complained about the painting at the foot of the machine, and how it is upside down the whole test with the mirror. He then did something very kind for me, but I promised to keep it quiet. It’s something that I’m going to one day try and get all hospitals to do, as it helped me immensely.

The first test was the full body one. That took over an hour.

When it was done, he pulled me out and unstrapped me and allowed me to stand and stretch for a moment. He said I could have headphones with music for the next test, as they were only looking at my abdomen and not my brain for the second round. He was surprised when I asked for the Nat King Cole Christmas station, but I said it made me happy.

He strapped me back down and in the tube I went.

The first song I heard?

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas”. The song I referred to all the time when I was first diagnosed and reminds me of my Nanny.


“Oh Holy night”, my grandmothers favorite song.

Not only was Jesus in the tube with me, but so were my grandmothers. It was hard not to cry because my head was strapped down in a mask and my arms were strapped to my sides and I couldn’t wipe my tears.

I became nervous when he had to take a couple of scans over and over. I kept telling myself it was to get an even clearer picture of the liver to show it’s clean and clear.

He pulled me out and said it’s done, and I said “Merry Christmas.” He told me I was the happiest calmest patient he thinks he ever had.

Christmas music will do that to me.

I started the testing process at 9:30, and walked out at 12.

I went to work and ended up having to redo all of my report card comments that apparently went missing. I cursed a little, then rolled up my sleeves and did them all over again. I’m good at moving on.

I went to a wake last night for my former school nurse’s husband. We held hands and she talked about God’s grace and beauty at the end. We spoke about how it may seem like forever now until she sees him again in Heaven, but truly it is the blink of an eye compared to the eternity they will spend together. We also talked about how and when do you tell your spouse everything that needs to be said before goodbye.

When rob and I got to the parking lot, I did my thirty second cry as he hugged me and I asked if he knew everything that needed to be said from me.

He does.

We came home and everyone was in bed by 8:30.

I meet with my doctor today at 10:30.

Im visualizing her coming in and saying, “Great Scans Keri. Now on to the tumor board.”

Thank you for all of your comments of support. It helps more than you know.

I’m hoping to share some good news around 11:30…

Or 11:11.

May today bring remission again, and a clear path ahead.

Not today, cancer. Today…

I will hear the four months of hard chemo worked. All cancer is gone. The tumor board will accept to hear my case. Long term remission is in my hands.

In Jesus’s name, amen.



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