Always Tomorrow

We are in the middle of Scan Week. Mark had an MRI, PET, and tomorrow is CT. With the new virus protocols, Bobby’s had 50/50 success in getting into hospitals with Mark. I’m taking Mark tomorrow, as this last scan is followed by appointments with radiation oncology and Mark’s main oncologist. In other words, this last scan may be followed by news. I’ve talked to the scheduling nurse three times over the past week, and each time she assures me my name is on a list that will allow me to stay with Mark. Have you seen Bobby? If he couldn’t get in, I’m not assuming whoever is working the door tomorrow will let me in. I’m bringing a book and a snack, and planning for the potential for a nap in my car to bide my time until he emerges.

Mark says he is worried, but not anxious. I told him that I’m not worried or anxious, because I’m assuming that we will come away only with partial information tomorrow. No matter what I can imagine they’ll say, I don’t think we’ll know everything. The best case scenario — no cancer present — would mean a waiting period until the next scan that will offer the same potential for fear, worry and anxiety. The worst case scenario — cancer present — likely would mean more appointments and discussions and treatment options. When has Mark’s cancer ever been black and white? When Mark and I look directly at the reality of his situation, what we have learned to expect is gray area.

Perhaps the biggest surprise tomorrow would be if it’s actually not.