Yesterday was another scan day. And after all this time of facing cancer, I know the drill. The day before and the morning of, I drink a lot of water to aid in getting the IV started. Dress in clothes with no metal so I don’t have to change into a hospital gown. Drive to the hospital. An hour before I arrive, I take a Diazepam to help me with claustrophobia. Kiss my wife goodbye in reception and walk down the long hallway to the room where I will be prepped. And while there is a rhythm to this, it is not easy. For I am afraid. I am haunted by the times the results were terrifying when they came. And I am praying for good news this time around. During the procedure, music is piped into the headphones they put on me before I am rolled into the machine. I request relaxation music and during the hour long procedure, I imagine I am ice skating to the melody. In my mind, I am floating on the ice with strength and grace. And then, it is finally over. This time.

Yesterday, was different in that I met with the renal oncologist later in the day. The results were mixed. Everything in my kidney was stable. Exactly the same as one year ago. However, the two spots they are watching in my pancreas have grown 1 millimeter each. I am not sure what that means and I do not meet with the pancreas oncologist for four weeks. But overall, it feels like this scan goes in the win column.

So why was I feeling melancholy on the way home if this scan was a win? Because grief rises as I face the fact that this process will be the rest of my life. That I will forever have to surveil my body for cancer. That I will never go back to the blissful ignorance of my pre-cancer life. Now, some people will probably say that I should be grateful for my life. I have survived four kinds of cancer in almost sixteen years. And they are right. And I do feel grateful for the fact that I am still alive. But sitting right next to my gratitude is grief. And they do not cut each other out. Gratitude does not erase grief and grief does not erase gratitude. They are partners in this journey with cancer.

So if I can’t erase my grief with gratitude, what do I do? I feel it. I recognize the emotion as a part of me. I trust it will lift from me when it is time. And I do things that comfort me. Last night, comfort was swimming and feeling the strength of my body moving in the water. Who knows what it will be next time.

I know, my dear readers, that all of us have grief in this journey of life. My wish for you is the acceptance to acknowledge it and ways to find comfort. Be well.