I can’t see, I just stare
I’m still alive.
— the prophet vedder
I’m eating eggs today. Nothing but boiled eggs and water. This would make a bad Dr. Seuss book.
I had planned going out for a long run today, just a test to see what I have left. The weather has started to hint at fall, I had an extra day off, and I had eaten chicken and rice last night, the secret weapon of Kenyans, last night. Hydrated, caffeinated, ready. Game on.
Then the unexpected call came this morning. PET scan tomorrow.
It’s funny that the test that changes your life has such an innocent name. Like its less friendly brother, the CAT scan, it sounds like you can bring Fluffy with you to hang out at the hospital. The PET scan is the badass radioactive oh my god i’m paying $7,000 for this test that shows in painstaking detail what your body is up to these days.
It’s the question we’ve been doing the dance around for six months or so. If you avoid it, it’s not there, right? I routinely try this same aproach with the dishes in the kitchen sink with various degrees of success. But I guess that’s that. Tomorrow they load me in the dishwasher.
And so today I’m eating eggs. No carbs, no sugar, no caffeine, no Medium Chocolate Frosty. What’s the point? Is life worth living if it requires going a day without a Medium Chocolate Frosty? I wonder.
And no exercise. Running causes inflammation which could cause a false positive. An excuse to be lazy! This could make up for the frosty.
And so I’m eating eggs. I’m drinking La Croix. I’m listening to Pearl Jam’s “Let’s Play Two” album (27 years?). And trying to pretend I’m not terrified. It’s not working that great.
Oh, well. Tomorrow afternoon, it will be over. I’ll get a frosty on the way home, change into my trusty Piranhas, and go trot on a warm October day in the desert, a respite of normalcy, a calm before the inevitable storm that still awaits.
And I damn sure won’t eat eggs.
Until the next time …