When Words Fail

It's funny. Some of the times that you feel like you should be on the top of your game as a writer are when you fall flat. It's not quite like writer's block, because writer's block is more like lack of inspiration--at least that has been my experience. It's not because I'm putting too much pressure on myself either. Usually when I do that, I'll come up with something, because I'm in survival mode. It's like the old college effect. You either write and pass the assignment or don't write and certainly fail. It's sink or swim.

Tonight is different.

Tonight is better.

Tonight I know, that no matter what I write, it won't adequately communicate the thoughts and feelings inside of me. Sometimes, but not often, words fail. Usually it requires a lack of a reference point such as when something is beautiful beyond description (like the birth of your child, so I've heard) or something is unspeakably evil (think 9/11).

So here I am trying to wrap my head around something to make it more understandable for those who are reading and I don't know where to start. Maybe it's impossible for you to understand unless you have heard the words, "You have cancer," and then spent the majority of the next year trying to avoid thinking about the what ifs while recovering from surgery, radiation, and chemo. Hard as it is, I have to try, because days like this don't come very often.

It's what I was expecting, I guess, my doctor's appointment, I mean. Last Friday, as I outlined in my previous post, I had my first PET scan since my treatment finished up. I was able to withstand the needle and the time alone in the tube, thank God. Today, however, the results of the scan would be made available to me during my check-up with my radiation oncologist. But after going to the doctor every day for nearly two months, the apprehension of "What's the doctor going to say?" wears off and you are left with routine. I forgot somehow that today was not routine.

I forgot, that is, until I heard my doctor say, "The PET scan looked great...better than we expected. It was everything we could have hoped for." Then I remembered that I hadn't heard anything close to resembling that in the past year-and-a-half. And this is where words fail me, because I just don't know what to write.

Like I said, I was expecting to hear good news. But despite the fact that I thought I was prepared to hear the good news and be on my way, I wasn't. I wasn't able to just sit and be told that the cancer, at this check-up anyway, was not there. I wasn't able to not care enough to be deeply affected by what my doctor said. I had too much invested. I had given too many drops of blood, sweat, and tears to not care. My memory flashed back to the mouth sores that were so raw I would spit up blood; the daily ritual of sweating in fear and apprehension as I climbed upon the radiation table; the tears of both the physical and emotional anguish that would surprise me in the middle of the night and the middle of day and sometimes, the middle of a conversation.

Sometimes words are meant to stand alone: "The PET scan looked great!"