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Dear Reader,
Tuesday's Cancer Crazies column brought mountains of email, including this hilarious story from my dear friend and syndicated columnist William Duncan. Years ago a doctor told my friend that he had cancer--the no hope kind--so he might as well go get his affairs in order. William's a tough old bird. Obviously "hope" didn't know who it was tangling with, because my friend continues to be cancer-free. But William does get regular screenings, and his guest column today about one of his checkups is hilarious.
You're gonna love William Duncan's story...
Once a person has had cancer they go through life searching their body for knots, bumps, bruises and anything that is there today that wasn't there yesterday.
Most of the time whatever you find is benign, but there's always that lingering doubt. I never knew I had so many moles and in the oddest places until I had to start tracking them.
Narcissus probably didn't look at his reflection as often or as carefully as I do in the mirror each day to see whether something has developed overnight.
It is a constant surveillance of one's anatomy.
When I'm not peeking some medical person is going through the same poking and probing in search of new discoveries.
Even with 30 years after my last cancer surgery, scans have to be done periodically. The scan aided by a bit of radioactive dye is poking and probing on the inside just as it is done externally in search of things that weren't there the last time.
During one of my scans, which was done in Portland, I lay on a table as a massive scanner passed over my body. A young woman technician operated a console nearby giving keyboard commands to the machine. I could see an image on a fuzzy green TV screen at the console, but it didn't look like anything I could recognize. I had been in this position many times before and each time the result was that everything was in its proper place. Then the woman at the console, cried out:
"Oh, damn! There it is again."
Oh, damn is right.
I lay there silently as she completed her tasks. My mind raced through all the things I had left undone and unsaid.
The woman left the room and while she was gone I mentally mapped out how I was going to deal with this new trauma. When she returned she told me everything looked good.
"What do you mean?" I said.
"It appears to be a routine, normal scan in comparison to your last scan," she said, "but we'll know more after the doctor completes his report."
Is this some medical cover-up? I thought, so I asked her point blank, what about the, "Oh damn."
"Did you hear me say that?"
"Yes," I replied. "I did."
"I'm sorry," she said. "That had nothing to do with your scan. There is a rough spot under the console and I keep ripping my pantyhose on it."
I was so elated over this medical miracle, I asked for her pantyhose size went to the hospital retail store and bought her several brand new pairs of pantyhose.
If you'd like to reach William Duncan to comment or in hopes he'll send you pantyhose, you can reach him at: semperfi@douglasfast.net
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Suzanne Beecher
Suzanne@DearReader.com
http://www.DearReader.com
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I really enjoy reading your comments before each selection, but today I just had to respond. You are so right about grandchildren. After my husband died 3 years ago, it was my grandchildren that could always put a smile on my face. In their innocence and directness they could tell when I just needed a hug, or to be told silly jokes until they had me on the floor laughing. Thank God for grandchildren.
Carol
Posted by: Carol Benedict | March 25, 2010 at 07:58 AM