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I've been a bit of a basket case lately while waiting for the PET scan results. I tried to prepare myself for all possible scenarios but I soon realized that if the doctor told me the cancer was back, I would be a mess in every way. And the more I rehearsed in my head how it would go if I got bad news, the more devastated I became. Depressed, I suppose, is the exact word. It's hard to describe the way this whole thing messes with your head. I try desperately to be positive and secure in knowing there is a bigger plan for me. But there is no security. And unavoidably there are dark moments when I am forced to wonder what would happen if my kids needed me and I was no longer there. It got bad recently when Omar Rodriguez passed away. That hit hard.

I didn't tell anyone, not even Steve about the way I was feeling. I didn't want to worry anyone. I've had a few strange physical symptoms lately including headaches, severe fatigue, and an occasional burning in my chest. Anyway, Steve and I drove up to Pasadena today for the appointment with Dr. McNamara. We mostly listened to Mark & Brian on the radio and didn't talk much. I was too distracted by my own thoughts to carry on a conversation. As it turns out, he was feeling much the same. We arrived at the appointment early and went in for the blood work. After labs, we headed to the 3rd floor to see the doctor. When we arrived in the waiting room, we saw a woman about my age sitting there. We saw her earlier in the waiting room for lab work and I couldn't help noticing the scarf on her head, hiding the inescapable hair loss from chemo. She was there with what appeared to be a female friend or perhaps a relative and she mentioned to the friend about her chemo infusion she would be having that day after she saw Dr. McNamara. But now she was sitting near us in McNamara's waiting room.

We sat in the waiting room for a few minutes when we heard Dr. McNamara's voice. As I listened, I could hear him walking toward the waiting room. At that moment he appeared, walking with a patient to the elevator and talking about some subject not at all familiar to me. He shook hands with the patient, who got on the elevator, and turned. He walked right past the woman with the scarf and came directly to me, which I was not at all expecting. He extended his right hand as he said, "Congratulations! Your scan looked great!" Steve and I both gasped with excitement and relief. We shook the doctor's hand and then hugged him. He said he would see us in a few minutes and then he walked back to the examination rooms.

Steve and I began to cry. I was so very relieved. Steve was relieved. And then it hit me. The woman. The woman in the scarf. What about the woman in the scarf??? As I dabbed my eyes with a kleenex, I looked in her direction. She was facing away from us, staring straight ahead and I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking after what had just unfolded in front of her. This was such a bittersweet moment for me. Call it empathy or compassion, I don't know. But my heart just ached. My heart ached for the woman in the scarf. I wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be ok. Instead I sat there and closed my eyes and said a prayer for her. I said a prayer for her like all of you did for me.

Not a moment too soon, the nurse called the woman in the scarf. And shortly after that I was called. The appointment with Dr. McNamara was great. The best possible news. I read the PET scan report which said, "The pet scan is now negative. There is no evidence of residual or recurrent malignancy." Dr. McNamara said he can't wait to show the report to Dr. Paz. Funny...