Good Omens

scananxiety and a happy ending

You are part of my story, memory and scenery, thank you. KIM TAEHYUNG

Detail from The Death of Hyacinth (Ndey Buri Mboup) oil on canvas ©Kehinde Wiley

I spent last week in the company of very high-tech machines and kind medical professionals. After months of local treatment for my rare lymphoma, I was at MD Anderson Medical Center in Houston for my first round of scans post-diagnosis, waiting for results that would determine the trajectory of my life here on Earth. So it was a cliffhanger of a week, preceded by a couple of weeks of intense insomnia. My husband and I learned the true meaning of scanxiety.

Houston is an art lover’s destination, and seeing art between scans mitigated my agitation. I visited Project Row Houses in the 3rd ward with my friend Kitty and caught the luminous Kehinde Wiley show at MFAH. And I carried the art with me into long strange days of poking, blood drawing, whirring machines and biopsies.

After my initial cancer diagnosis, I entered a realm of contradictions. I was determined to cherish beauty, to hold close what is precious and turn away from the people and things that squander and suppress it. But at the same time, my equilibrium cantilevered, making me awkward and unsure—like that person who laughs hysterically while someone is delivering bad news at a cocktail party. My focus was shot, and I found myself starting and abandoning projects and constantly second-guessing myself. I became absent-minded and a terrible correspondent.

Outwardly I whistled a happy tune trying to send the message to God, the universe, or whoever else was listening that I wanted to remain. But every cancer patient will tell you about the shadow side of the cancer psyche. The foreboding is constant, like the distant drumbeat of approaching orcs from Peter Jackson’s Fellowship of the Ring series. And on that note, if you were to animate cancer cells orcs would be a great choice — numerous, foul-looking (maybe not to research scientists) and sadistic killers.

The dread reliably bubbled up at 2 am, followed by a mental rollercoaster. I worried about my family. Our kids are launching their professional lives and I didn’t want my illness to undermine the excitement of their passage. My husband had been treading water waiting for these initial test results before taking on another writing project. I also took inventory. Like most cancer patients I quietly began getting affairs in order and making contingency plans. I drifted to dark corners when I wondered about the milestones I might miss and swiftly shut that down, hoping I didn’t invite trouble.

The Nightmare by John Fuseli

You also have to quash that voice telling you that you are flawed, that somehow you did something that brought this on. My oncologist confirmed that overcoming this shame is one of her patients’ most significant hurdles, and they pick through their lives wondering how their choices may have invited cancer into their midst. The answer is never simple, but genetics and exposure to environmental toxins, not character flaws, are at the root of many cancers. After all, many toxic people are in perfect health.

And then last week we got the news. My treatment protocol is working. Three scans were clean, and others were close. My first scans months ago showed cancerous mantle cells scattered throughout my body, like constellations of sinister stars. And now my body has a different starscape. Daniel and I cried the whole flight back to Colorado. I have several layers of treatment to go, capped off with the knockout punch of in-patient chemotherapy for days at a time. It will be challenging, but I got the psychic turbo charge I needed to make it to the finish line. `

When I got the news, I felt a cellular shift, a buoyancy, that felt like an otherworldly blessing, making me more determined to live in gratitude and love, even if it may be imperfect. Joan Didion famously wrote “Life changes in the instant,” and it did. I left Houston a different soul. I am on my way to remission, and though I have to fight to stay there for the rest of my life, I will have this life.

Leaving you with Sly and a heartfelt thank you for reading.