Hope is a Dangerous Thing

I went on a crying jag later in the day today. I found another blood clot in my arm and a few more raised lymph nodes in my neck and groin. My mind raced. Am I killing myself by not being aggressive? The odd thing about that questioning is that it really doesn't matter. The asshole doctors here didn't have me even scheduled for a followup biopsy--they just wanted an initial appointment yesterday. Which leaves me to wonder how long it would have taken to get started on chemo, etc., anyway? I think waiting for Mayo Clinic is the wisest course in this case. The doctor chosen for me is a specialist in thoracic cancers and much more competent appearing than Ass-holio the local oncologist. I really believe I can hope for the best outcome this way.

This hope has proven dangerous, however, because it seems to be followed closely by fear. When I thought I was doomed by small cell lung cancer, I made my peace with God and waited for the final verdict. But now that I have been confronted by evidence that it may not be as imminently terminal and that I am on the rolls of a super doc, I am finding myself afraid that I will lose this battle. It's so odd, at first I was willing to submit to fate, but now that I am fighting it, the outcome becomes more precious. Is my feeling of control coupled with an unreliable outcome causing the fear? Really control is an illusion, and I am finding it to be the true problem with this scenario. When I think I have control, then I fear the outcome. Hmmmmmm. This sounds like a problem for a Zen master. Anyone know one?