overwhelmed.

The good news came on the Spring Equinox
when day equals night
and beginnings are new.
Darkness is a little less frightening
and hope more pronounced
as I pull a Mr. Bojangles
and click my heels 
to celebrate you.
-Written by Dad

i woke up thursday morning and knew it was either going to be the best day or the worst day.

in proper sarah style, i had processed the shit out of this. in the recent weeks and months, i had considered everything from my relationship with my own mortality, what it means to have a meaningful life, and what it might mean to say goodbye to bangkok again. i had been through a range of emotions from fear to anxiety to utter despair. i was restless in solitude, needing to compulsively move my hands: cooking, cleaning, typing. the tiniest bit of control. in the days leading up to the scan, i became clear and calm. almost frighteningly so. i told people i was resigned to what was to come. i had written out long letters to myself to open in the event of either outcome, so that i would be able to think clearly, and not forget anything that was important to me.

if you believe in signs, there were a number of them that could have been interpreted in different ways:

• the evening before the results there was a full moon rising. i sat out on my porch, and took a picture of it. a whole moon, just like my whole life.
• a number of very good friends happened to be coming through bangkok this week. more than i’ve had visiting bangkok in the last two months combined. the timing felt weird. was this social padding to offer me gentle care and support in my grief?
• my oncologist had told me she was going to give me the news over the phone. the last time i got a phone call with results, it was the phone call that still reverberates through my memory, when i first found out i was diagnosed with melanoma. would this be a deja vu moment?

even though i don’t believe in signs, my mind couldn’t help but to see the story in them. underneath it all: i knew what would be, would be. and what was true, was already true. i knew i was loved, and i would handle even the darkest dark.

scan day

the scan itself wasn’t that stress inducing. i mean, they are not pleasant; but they are fine. a friend of mine accompanied me to the hospital. i was tired because i hadn’t been sleeping well. it was a six hour process, with only 45 minutes lying still in the machine. i had to have my blood checked to make sure my blood sugars were at a healthy level to have the scan (and that i hadn’t cheated and eaten carbs for dinner). this was frustrating, because the nurses here in bangkok are not overly comfortable getting a vein. i know i have small veins, which unfortunately, there is VERY little i can do to change! but really, a little confidence can go a long way. the passive/timid approach to jabbing me with a needle simply doesn’t put me at ease.

after the bloodwork, a radioactive tracer was injected into my body, and i had to rest quietly in a dark room for an hour. nap time… perfect! then, i was brought into the scan room, had to lie down on a narrow table, and was injected with a contrast, which made my whole body feel warm (and just to add insult to injury, makes you feel like you just peed your pants!). i was instructed not to move at all, and the table glided slowly in and out of the machine. there were whirling sounds, and clicking sounds, and it was all very strange. the machine was a giant space contraption, shaped like the letter o. it was not claustrophobic like an MRI machine, but it was still uncomfortable. there was a weird 1970s style underwater scene on the ceiling of the scan room, which was pixelated. enormous blurry fish were staring me down, daring me to flinch. only in thailand.

i took the rest of the day off. i had a team of people that came in – full distraction mode. scrabble, indian food, foot massages, and conversations about everything except the inevitable.

results day

thursday i woke up, and it felt like a dream. i knew the oncologist was going to call around 10 AM, but i didn’t tell anyone that. i preferred to keep it to myself. i drove to work with a friend who was staying with me. somehow, i mustered the strength to wander around and greet people who were attending the conference that our school was hosting. i smiled when people asked me how i was doing. if you only knew, i thought. i teared up during a tribute and during the keynote speech about finding your purpose in life. was this another sign?

the phone rang at 9:38 am, and i was just outside my office. i stepped inside. i heard my oncologist’s voice. she sounded serious, and asked if this was a good time to talk. i sat down at my desk, and took a deep breath. she said, “i’m calling with the results of the PET scan”. my heart wasn’t pounding. time was frozen. OF COURSE I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE CALLING ABOUT!! she said that the results were good. i said, “pardon?” she started talking about 6 by 6 and 5 by 3, and all these numbers. i didn’t follow. i was still thinking about the fact that she had used the word “good” to describe me. i got my head on straight, and remembered the follow up questions i was supposed to ask.

when she hung up the phone, my colleague came into my office and i burst into tears. i can get my life back. i don’t need to pack up my apartment and move back across the world. my life dreams came flooding back. it was overwhelming. i texted a few friends, spoke to some family, and then rather anti-climatically, i went to a meeting.

the rest of the day, i literally didn’t know how to process it. i knew i should have been happy, the results were good! but i was in shock. i was stunned. the enormity of the day was almost too much for one tiny human brain to handle. in one of my conversations, someone mentioned that i might have felt unsure by the results, and it deflated me like a balloon. should i not trust the results? why was the nodule smaller, but not gone? what if this was all wrong? they had been wrong before. i wanted a second opinion from my canadian oncologist.

i tried to ground myself with very simple tangible tasks. my decision making skills were non existent. i was floating. i felt like i should have been happy, like i should have been celebrating, but all i wanted to do was to go to bed. i ended up going out for dinner with a friend and eating a very delicious thai-style omelette, and capping the evening off with a foot massage. a quiet, little ode to staying in bangkok.

the day after

the next day, after a long sleep, i sat on the couch. i felt paralyzed and numb. we had the day off, which was perfect timing. i tried to make sense of the news, and my feelings. the weight and the stress of this had been sitting on my little heart and soul for many months. in an ideal world, the nodule would have been completely gone. but it wasn’t. it could be that the nodule is not even melanoma. but it is hard to know. there are still more unknowns, ever present in my new life. i realized i was afraid to let the news be good. i was afraid to let myself have this success, because maybe next time it wouldn’t be, or it could be taken away from me, or the scan was wrong. i had played out so many other scenarios and i hadn’t really played out this one in great detail. i had the troops rallied to support me in case it all went wrong, but i didn’t have any support set up for me in the event that it went well. i assumed i’d feel amazing, and be reveling in all the joys of life.

i’ll tell you one thing: couch processing is real. it was never the therapists, it was their couches. i realized on that couch, that i don’t yet feel joy or relief; but i do feel gratitude. immense soul filling gratitude. and it is a lovely, pleasant feeling.

i feel gratitude that for the first time in so long, i can look beyond today. i can consider what i might want to do this weekend, or next week, or even in april. i can add books that i want to read to my list. i can potentially commit to summer plans. i can go to a movie and sleep all the way through it if i want. i will get to use all the chickpea flour in my freezer, and all the lentils… SO MANY LENTILS! i can put money on my BTS card, not worrying that i will have to give the card away, or it will go unused. i can make decisions about what to do with my apartment. the world – at least until my next scan – is opened back up to me.

i can savor a thai-style omelette without the knowledge that it may be my last one.

for now, at least for a little while, i’ve got my life back.

*this photo was taken on a little island in the maldives in august, 2012. a tropical paradise.