Tumor markers

I looked at the tumor markers last, after having noted that my glucose levels are even higher than before (139) and there is some calcification in a couple of heart valves, although they are functioning normally. And, as usual, my RBC’s are at the lowest end of the normal range. But then, the tumor markers. BOTH higher than the last three times—a good bit higher. Could this so-called lymphedema in my neck really be a tumor? Susan ordered a CT (a bit early, maybe a lot early). She clearly suspects something, and now the elevated tumor markers.
At first I just sat here very numb. Then all of a sudden I had to pee. Getting up to pee while hooked up to the IV infusion of Zometa was a distraction for a few minutes, but then, back to my seat and a look at the tumor marker results again. I think these results are the highest they’ve ever been.
Suddenly the bottom of my stomach drops. My body is registering what my brain has already realized. I’m consciously trying to prevent my mind from leaping ahead to the what-ifs—but my breathing is shallow and I’m feeling tense and tingly all over. Now my eyes are starting to water.
There’s a mournful hymn playing on the CD player. Rock of Ages played on a guitar—slowly, quietly. I’m here by myself in this chair, surround by the familiar chemo room sights and sounds, strangely comforting.
Every time I think about those tumor markers, my chest tightens. Whoa, Nelly. Don’t jump off the cliff yet. Wait to see what the “experts” say. Is this why I’m seeing Dr. Williams next time instead of Susan? Here I am connecting the dots, leaping to conclusions, preparing for the worst. Susan even mentioned that Dr. Williams might want to adjust my therapy (if the CT showed something). Obviously she’s suspicious of the lump in my neck, and so am I. And Dr. Marika is at a loss to explain why it’s not resolving. Could it be that it’s not only lymphedema? Oh, my. Oh, my.
Another mournful hymn playing. We Gather Together to Ask the Lord’s Blessing. Probably someone else would hear it as being played sweetly, or poignantly, but to me it’s mournful.
People are taking pictures today of people sitting in the chemo chairs. Something for the scrapbook, I guess, when they are all well again. I have no such desire.
Turn on a dime. Emotions, that is. From feeling good, although a bit curious and slightly apprehensive about this lump to now I’m in limbo again—semi-expecting the worst.
Damn this disease.