A Moment in Sarcoma from Todd
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Minneapolis, Minnesota
CT scans only take a few minutes. Except for the first one after you’ve been told you have cancer. It lasts for weeks.
Twenty-six years old. Married. College-educated. Gainfully employed. Fortunate to have a rather blessed life. And now faced with the uncertainty of how much longer that life would continue and how much “living” it would be able to do.
Scared. Sad. Frustrated. Questioning. Wanting something - anything - to lean on at that moment to know this can be overcome. That things will be okay.
I’m not - or should I say, “wasn’t” - a very spiritual or religious person. But moments like this in life give way to needing a “higher answer.”
With my heart racing and nerves on end, I continued to feign a smile and calmly chat with the CT tech, trying not to show the emotion that was just beneath the surface. I concentrated on not letting my voice crack. On keeping my breathing even. On holding back tears. And then I silently prayed.
To whoever would listen.
“Please send me a sign,” I started. “Any sign. Something to let me know that I will be all right. That I can beat this. That this can be overcome.”
“I NEED this. I need this sign.” For the first time since I lay down on the CT table, I became aware of the light sound of a radio playing in the “control area” in the adjacent room. It had been on the entire time, but it was just now that my ears tuned in. An unknown song faded out. A new one faded in.
“Here comes the sun. Do do do do. Here comes the sun. And I say, it’s all right.”
Goose bumps. A smile. And some soft tears.
Right then I knew. It would be all right.
Twenty-six years old. Married. College-educated. Gainfully employed. Fortunate to have a rather blessed life. And now faced with the uncertainty of how much longer that life would continue and how much “living” it would be able to do.
Scared. Sad. Frustrated. Questioning. Wanting something - anything - to lean on at that moment to know this can be overcome. That things will be okay.
I’m not - or should I say, “wasn’t” - a very spiritual or religious person. But moments like this in life give way to needing a “higher answer.”
With my heart racing and nerves on end, I continued to feign a smile and calmly chat with the CT tech, trying not to show the emotion that was just beneath the surface. I concentrated on not letting my voice crack. On keeping my breathing even. On holding back tears. And then I silently prayed.
To whoever would listen.
“Please send me a sign,” I started. “Any sign. Something to let me know that I will be all right. That I can beat this. That this can be overcome.”
“I NEED this. I need this sign.” For the first time since I lay down on the CT table, I became aware of the light sound of a radio playing in the “control area” in the adjacent room. It had been on the entire time, but it was just now that my ears tuned in. An unknown song faded out. A new one faded in.
“Here comes the sun. Do do do do. Here comes the sun. And I say, it’s all right.”
Goose bumps. A smile. And some soft tears.
Right then I knew. It would be all right.
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