“In your head, in your head, they are fighting…” Whenever I have a scan coming, I hear the chorus of the song by The Cranberries playing in my mind. It is an apt song to describe the scan-anxiety or scanxiety I feel. I know this is a far cry from what the original song was about. But the intense rock music fits well with the turmoil my body feels. My worries and my fears battling it out in my head with the more rational side of my brain. The scan is impending and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
Logically, I know worrying about the scan will only ruin today. The fear that the cancer may have recurred plays over and over in my head. But even if it is back, which it is NOT (I believe in asking the universe for what you want), there is nothing I would or could do differently with the next few days. In the coming days, I’ll be spending time with the people who matter most to me - I wouldn’t change that.
Logically, I’m feeling well. My hair looks healthy and my skin has lost the yellow glow that goes along with cancer and treatment. Also, I have none of the symptoms of lymphoma. I have no night sweats. In fact, my sleep is better than it’s ever been. I can’t feel any lumps or bumps in my neck, armpits or groin. A swollen lymph node in my groin is how my lymphoma presented itself originally. My body is doing well and healing from all the treatments I’ve had.
Logically, I know the statistics are positive for my situation. I’m on the CLIC1901 CAR T cell therapy trial. The statistics show that those who achieved complete remission post CAR T cell therapy, like myself, are highly likely to still be in remission at 3 months. Subsequently those who are in complete remission at 3 months, like I was, are highly likely to remain in remission at six months. So the cards are stacked in my favour.
But I can’t help it. I have a niggling worry in my head. What if the scan shows the lymphoma is back? What if the lump I think I feel in my abdomen is cancerous? What if…? What if…? What if…? There are just too many what ifs.
So for the moment, and until I have the results, I am choosing to lock these fears away in an imaginary vault. I’ll lock them up tight so that for the days preceding the scan, and those after the scan, will be normal; or as normal as they can be in my world of recovery. Over the next few days I’ll spend time with people I love. And I’ll turn off the fighting in my head…in my head.
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