I went to the ENT specialist today for a surgery follow-up. The doctor said all the tests so far are looking good, which should feel like a clean win. But then came the other sentence, the one that sticks in your ribs: he said I’m at a high risk of the cancer returning.
I honestly don’t know what to make of that. If the tests are good, there shouldn’t be cancer… right? That’s how my brain wants the math to work. Still, he noticed a small bump on my neck near where the cancer used to be and ordered yet another ultrasound and another blood test. Add it to the growing pile.
What bothered me more than I expected was that he didn’t even seem to care that I quit smoking. No acknowledgment, no “that helps,” no gold star for doing the hardest thing I’ve done in years. Just more tests, more orders, more waiting.
And that’s where the real frustration lives. Not just in the fear, but in the system. The constant navigating between insurance companies, doctors, specialists, labs, imaging centers, my HMO, and my case manager. Every appointment feels like a different answer depending on who you’re talking to and what day it is. It’s exhausting in a way that has nothing to do with medicine and everything to do with bureaucracy.
Anytime someone says the word cancer, we immediately think of death. I do too. Of course I do. That outcome exists, and pretending it doesn’t would be dishonest. But I’m trying not to live at the end of the story. I’m trying to focus on what I can do while I’m still very much in it.
So I distract myself, and I don’t apologize for that. This whole thing is a rollercoaster, and sometimes the only sane move is to look at what’s right in front of you instead of the drop ahead. I draw. I write. I make art. I play with the cat. I put very little energy into worrying about what I can’t control.
At home, it’s funny how life mirrors itself. I watch the older cat calmly playing with mom, perfectly content in her routine. Meanwhile, little Whiskey Kitty is my responsibility. She needs constant supervision. Yesterday I gave her free reign of the upstairs, feeling confident and proud—right up until I lost her. After searching everywhere, I finally found her trapped by her own curiosity inside a laundry basket. Completely unharmed. Slightly confused. Very determined.
Two cats living two different lives in the same house. Two cat owners dealing with their own worries under the same roof. Neither of us fearless, but neither of us frozen either.
I don’t know what the next test will say. I don’t know how this story ends. But today, I showed up, stayed smoke-free, took care of what I could, and lived my day anyway.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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