I’m not dying.

That is to say, my headache was completely gone today, which was a relief. And since it is over, I now know what it was – my run of the mill monthly migraine.

Of course, no good news comes unaccompanied with bad. I seem to have caught a stomach virus today. That, paired with a punishing one hour plus wait to be seen at Dr P’s office, combined with it being lunch hour and me having a dodgy but empty stomach? Not great. By the time Nurse Practitioner R  (she’s back from maternity leave!) walked in, I was a little green around the gills. I gave her a hug, but she is a good nurse and recognizes when a patient may be about to collapse. Since they no longer stock cold drinks on non-treatment floors (something to do with rampant apple juice and ginger ale theft), she took a few minutes, but came back with a couple cans of juice to set me right.

My bloodwork is fine. I seem fine in general, other than my current intestinal distress. I’m good until my next scan on May 16.

Except I still cried. PTSD will do that, even when especially when you get good news. I mean, here I was back in the cancer center with a bad stomach. Shades of November 2014 and April 2015, all at once. You don’t remember specific pain, but you can remember a place and what happened there and if you’re in the exam room today that you were in back when it all started.

I grabbed some saltines on my way out (those, at least, are still available) and bought some Gatorade. Then I chanced it on the subway. I got a good, fast connection. I’m home now, J taking over for me this afternoon and evening, and I’m trying to see this episode in a new light, not reflections of the old ones.

“In April 2016, I thought for a day or two that I was dying, but I was not. I only had a stomach bug…”