Reflection 41: Internal dialogue

Some call it a stream of consciousness.

  I think that I overthink.

  Sitting by the window staring out at nothing really on this predawn day, the monster I have been calling Doubt is back! This time it seems worse than ever. My scheduled head and neck scan are merely days away. Maybe that is why the monster has returned. This, the second scan, like the first that started my journey along the road with melanoma will reveal whether or not all of the cancer cells have indeed been all destroyed. Or perhaps they have not.

  They have. I mean why have the cancer cells not been entirely eradicated from my body? Cancer has been treated for over a hundred years. The medical knowledge base along with the technology on this disease has grown exponentially. There is no question.

  And yet…

  And yet the sun shines on both sides of my face does it not? Of course, it does. Why should the right side of my head contract this disease and not the left? I have no answer. Apparently, nobody else does either. It is not that I have not asked this question. Oh, the probability of that happening, Sun Wukong, is about as remote as winning the lottery, I was informed a few months ago by one of my surgeon's nurses.

  I have confidence in the work of the doctors and staff. I do, I really do. But the monster called Doubt is here again this morning. I have reservations. No, beyond that; I am anxious and fearing the worse when the professionals stare at analyzing the X-ray in a few short days.

  You are an analytical kind of a guy, Sun Wukong. What is your best evidence? Put it on this here kitchen table you are sitting at right now! Well, everyone is concentrating on my right ear, not my left. A tumour was at Stage Two or two centimetres.

  Aye yes, but the beam of radiation goes right through my head. When the laser is turned on it does not stop on the right side of my head. It enters the right side, travels from right to left and then out. I underwent 20 treatments. So, 20 times it had the opportunity to do its job on my left ear as it did on the right one.

  Occasionally, I have been experiencing earaches in my left ear. This happened in my right as well before my operation. I also sense that my hearing has diminished as well. Am I just being paranoid? Perhaps.

  In reality, I have no confidence that the cancer is gone until "the fat lady sings." I only have hope. That is the long and the short of it. Then I will be able to smile, relax and prepare to come to the hospital every six months for five years for a checkup.

  Until then, I find myself doubting myself even though I have no evidence save paranoia to the contrary.

  Sigh.

  The eastern sky is becoming brighter. I think that I hear a morning lark singing its presence to the world-at-large. Hopefully, the sun will shine.

20 minutes later.

  Ah, I see that the day is dawning. A fresh outlook is coming to mind.

  Perhaps Doubt is not the monster I am making it out to be. That is a delusion. I am fooling myself into thinking that. Doubt can merely be healthy skepticism. It is neutral.
Depression is not neutral. It is negative. It is cancer that eats at your outlook, spirit and soul. It is a monster that I hope never to meet. But if I do, I will duel with the wily beast, thrusting at him time and again with a double-edged sword as if I was playing Prince Hal in Shakespeare's Henry V. I am far from being a violent man, but there is just no other way to hold the monster at bay.

  Hope is positive. It is optimistic. It is "the little engine that could." It is warm and golden. It glows. It gives meaning to life. It makes you want to get up in the morning. When dealing with head and neck cancer, I decided months ago that being optimistic is the only way. I try to maintain that state of mind. It has its base on expectations of a positive outcome. It is looking for balloons coming down from the store's ceiling when they tell you that you're the millionth customer and you just won a new car! Ah, the lottery!

  I have grounds for belief that a clean bill of health will be the outcome. I really do. I have faith in my oncology team led by my surgeon and radiation doctors. Third parties tell me that they are "top drawer" in their chosen fields. Like Martin Luther King, I have a dream. My dream is a positive outcome. My thought, like his, is built on the foundation stone of hope. I feel the empathy and love of many when we dialogue about my disease. I am quite open about it, and so are those I discuss the matter with. Finally, I have the assurance of my cancer buddy. Sharing emotions and feelings are so much a part of it all. It is the cornerstone. Her constant reminders always leave me with the conclusion that the outcome will be positive. There just is no other option in my mind. Full stop.



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