Caroline arrived at the hospital the next morning feeling apprehensive. If she was honest with herself and managed to cut through the internal panic, she felt as though she’d beaten the cancer. In many ways, she felt better than she had in a long time, but she still couldn’t shake that horrible nagging doubt at the back of her mind. She’d felt relatively fine in the early stages of the disease. What was to say this wasn’t the same situation all over again?
Her post-surgery scan had been delayed a little due to a combination of Christmas and chronic underfunding of local health services, but she hadn’t minded too much. In a way, not knowing had provided her with relief. But there was a growing sense that she needed to know. The clarity that would come from a definitive answer would allow her to move on.
After she was called through, she was asked a few questions about how she’d been after her surgery. They seemed surprised that she’d been back at work — as did most people — and although she was tempted to tell them to mind their own business, she instead politely pointed out that she felt just fine, and that she hadn’t been taking on anything too taxing. If pushed, she’d happily explain how sitting around at home doing nothing would be a whole lot riskier.
‘How are the energy levels doing?’ the nurse asked.
‘Fine. I mean, I’m not sure I remember what “normal” is, but I certainly feel a hell of a lot better than I have in the last year or so.’
‘Good. Well, the notes seem to indicate the surgery went well from a practical point of view, but what we’re going to do today is an MRI scan. It’s very similar to the CT scan you had pre-diagnosis, insofar as we lay you down and slide you into a weird white tube, but the MRI will give us a more detailed image of what’s going on. It just means that if there are any signs of regrowth — even small ones — we should be able to see them and do something about them. Does that all make sense?’
Caroline let out a small laugh. ‘To be honest, you can do whatever you like as long as you get rid of it.’
The nurse gave a friendly smile laced with the slightest touch of I’ve-heard-that-one-a-thousand-times-before-but-I’ll-humour-you-anyway. ‘With a little bit of luck, it should all be gone already, but we’ll soon know.’
‘How soon?’ Caroline asked. ‘I don’t know if anyone actually mentioned that to me. Sorry if they did.’
‘It depends. You’ll get a letter within the next few days with a date for a follow-up appointment. By that time we should have the results and we’ll be able to talk about the next steps, continued monitoring, all that sort of thing. Shall we get cracking?’
Caroline looked through the window towards the MRI scanner. It was an odd feeling, knowing that machine would — quite literally — dictate her future. It would either signal the success of the surgery and a new start, or something else entirely. With her heart beating heavily and a soaring sense of trepidation, she stood and followed the nurse.