I’ve felt all the pinpricks in the last two weeks, piercing and throbbing from things no longer there. I keep wondering if it’s the way I’ve been sleeping on my side or because we reinstalled the three inch memory foam topper we haven’t used in two years.
When I called my oncologist’s office on Monday to make an appointment, I noticed their appointment line changed. They want me to come in on Nov 9th, and I felt my rebellion swell when I knew I had to power to say, “No, I have something to do that day.” The contact for their office is no longer on my favorites to speed dial, and I regained some normalcy by having to look up the office number. Even the thought of going back for an exam evokes the image of blue latex-free gloves and echos back the crinkle of off-white exam table paper. Sometimes when I sit in the waiting room, the other patients think I’m waiting for someone else – because in their mind I couldn’t possibly have had ovarian cancer – especially not stage IV.
It’s happening more during the day since I hit two years since diagnosis last week. I’ve rubbed the muscle under the MediPort scar and massaged the area under my stretched mommy tummy. I know they’re not there, the deadly things they took out and nuked through IV lines, but I still feel them. My scans still say I’m fine and can confirm the emptiness, but sometimes I feel the phantoms of my organs. Sometimes I dream I can still have children. Sometimes I dream it never happened.
I’m hoping, one day, light will pierce the apparitions, and they will never return – annoying flutters of memory.