It's Just a Hiccup

It's Monday morning and I get a phone call from Dr. Julie Asch at LDS Hospital.

She starts, a little hesitantly, "So you had a PET scan on Friday."

"Yep, and I've already read the results. I told my husband in the ER on Saturday after reading the report that it looks like the Hodgkins is back. This time, it's centered around my trachea. It's really small though because we caught it fast. Maybe two doses of chemo will kill it?"

She laughs. "You're right. And exactly along the lines that I was thinking. So it's good we're both on board."

"I predicted this would happen--that the Hodgkins would come back if we had to wait more than four months after the radiation was over for my heart to heal before we proceeded to the second bone marrow transplant."

"After you're done with these cancer treatments, I'm going to hire you."

"No, I know my own body well, but I can't do this for anyone else."

"Well, I'll turn you over to Dr. Wendy then for a few more chemo treatments, and see you when that's over."

Later that night, I ask Dale how he's feeling. To me, this occurrence is just a hiccup, a slight detour from the path. But how is he feeling to know that I have cancer for the fifth freaking time?

And he concurs. "It's just a hiccup, Trish."

We must be the weirdest people in the world. I'm sure some people would be in a major depression to hear that they have cancer; some probably contemplate suicide or think their life is practically over with such a diagnosis.

Us? It's just a hiccup. No biggie.