Earlier this week I had a visit with the endocrinologist.  This was a routine,periodic visit to discuss recent test results and future strategies.  She’s a pleasant person, open to a cooperative approach to treatment, so I find dealing with her to be a positive experience.

She shared with me the happy news that, in addition to recent positive developments (relative to my ultrasound and blood antibody marker results), I would not be needing to have a full-body scan this summer.  I was surprised, but pleased, and I was heartened by her positivity. We discussed how, because new, long-awaited guidance had finally been delivered, the protocol was now that someone in my situation would have another ultrasound and bloodwork done.  In terms of personal convenience, this is good, because, whenever there’s a full-body scan done, not only does the patient get a decent-sized dose of radiation (both from the tracer and the scan itself, and, for someone who’s had big doses of radiation therapy twice already, avoiding unnecessary radiation goes with the territory), they also undergo the ardor of a two-week low iodine diet.  There are things that are worse, for certain.  It is just that, the thought of undertaking the diet is a hurdle.  Not having that hurdle in front of me in six months makes the summer look a little brighter.

Of course I will have the ultrasound and bloodwork to undergo.  My antibody level, as discussed before, has fallen and is on a downward trajectory.  It is very close to what is considered “normal”, but not quite there yet.  If it ticks back upward, chances are we’ll be back on the scan protocol, sooner rather than later.  And that’s how it goes in this having a cancer history business.

It occurred to me driving home that we often (always?) lack the perspective to be able to truly evaluate whether something is “good” or “bad”.  It reminded me of this anecdote, from “A New Earth” by Eckhart Tolle:

‘The deeper interconnectedness of all things and events implies that the mental labels of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are ultimately illusory. They always imply a limited perspective and so are true only relatively and temporarily.

This is illustrated in the story of a wise man who won an expensive car in a lottery. His family and friends were very happy for him and came to celebrate. ‘Isn’t it great!’ they said. ‘You are so lucky.’ The man smiled and said, ‘Maybe.’

For a few weeks he enjoyed driving the car. Then one day a drunken driver smashed into his new car at an intersection and he ended up in the hospital, with multiple injuries. His family and friends came to see him and said, ‘That was really unfortunate.’ Again the man smiled and said, ‘Maybe.’

While he was still in the hospital, one night there was a landslide and his house fell into the sea. Again his friends came the next day and said, ‘Weren’t you lucky to have been here in hospital.’ Again he said, ‘Maybe.’“’

Upon superficial examination, most of us would think that a cancer diagnosis was really bad news.  As Robin Trower is playing on the stereo as I write this

That stone keeps on rolling

Bringing me some real bad news

The takers get the honey, givers sing the blues

I’m willing to accept that, conventional wisdom be damned, I’m not so sure.  Perhaps the appropriate response is “maybe”.  There are ways that cancer (treatable cancer, anyway) has seemed like a blessing.  Certainly a “cancer free” status feels like a blessing, too.  I’ll try to keep that feeling going, whatever developments occur. The givers sometime get the honey, too.