Kelsey Glover
Nov 4 · 5 min read

Unfortunately my reality is that I spend the majority of my life living in fear then I do actually living it..

The root of it being, I’m so scared of dying. I’m scared of being told I have something wrong with me. I’m so scared of being diagnosed with the C word.

Seeing my mom, aunt and uncle lose their battles to it, watching my dad fight through his. I’ve spent the majority of my life watching battle after battle...

Last year my Dr. diagnosed me with PTSD, I couldn’t believe I could have that. But watching the trauma of what cancer has done to my family I guess it only made sense.

Not only has cancer taken away my mom and is challenging my dad with the biggest fight of his life but it has taken away my life of living careless and free. Each and every one of my friends have both their parents and ever grandparents. It just dumbfounds me at times. I catch myself living in awe of their care free life. Seeing them gather all together with each holiday, their moms taking them out for lunch, having their parents take their kids for the weekend, I’m constantly living in a bitter awe of them all. I even find myself feeling jealous and angry at times over it. I fantasize about what that would be like. Seeing my mom and dad walk through my salon door just to say hi, wanting to grab the kids for the weekend. I think about where mom and I would go for lunch and what we would order. Which by the way would be Lady of the Lake and we would both order a salad trying to be healthy then break and order cheesecake for dessert. We then would quickly browse the clothing and decor items before leaving. I wonder what type of “texter” my mom would have been...

Sorry I’m going off topic here, I too easily get lost in the fantasy of life before cancer took my family.

So now here’s my reality, I’m sitting here waiting for them to take me into the room where my mom and dad both have been, lying in this very same MRI tunnel. I try not to think about the IV in my arm. Still trying to recompose myself, the walk from the vehicle to the MRI department took everything out of me mentally , my husband had to help me change into my gown because I felt I was going to pass out. As he sits beside me telling me how everything is going to be ok, I wondered what my mom felt before she entered that very room. I wondered what my dad felt right before he crawled into the tunnel. Were they both scared like I am feeling right now? Did they sleep the night before?

The nurse calls me in, allowing my husband to come with me. Something that isn’t done often but for me they allowed it as they could see the tears falling. We enter the room. It’s white, the tunnel is sitting in the middle of the room. Behind me is the mirror where beyond it is the room the MRI techs sit. patiently waiting on me to get in place. I quickly contemplate not doing it, pulling then pin on this whole thing.. I remind myself that fear is temporary but the regret would last a life time if I don’t push myself to be proactive with these test..

I start bawling, the nurse takes my hand telling me its going to be ok. She hooks up the dye machine to my IV. I then crawl up onto the bed sitting on my knees. The nurse opens my gown and Mike and her guide me face down into place. She whispers in my ear your going to be ok. She places the head phones onto my ears to help shield the noise of the machine. The table starts moving slowly into the tunnel, I can feel it grace the top of my head, there is no room to move. I can feel Mike outside the tunnel touching my feet, trying to keep me calm. The imaging begins. The noise is so loud, I can’t imagine what it would be like without the headphones on…Minutes start passing, which feels like hours. The nurse had place a squishy call button in my left hand in case of emergency. Lying full fledge super man position no room to move I try to close my eyes and picture anything but this. The snot coming out of my nose was no pretty site I’m sure and I felt sorry for the person who has to clean that out of the plastic tray it falls into. I know they’re going to inject the dye half way through... I’m terrified of it doing harm to me. I know its needed so they can get the best pictures but it doesn’t make it any easier. I felt like hours had gone by, why am I not done?

My arms numb by now, the rail that sits on my breast bone is starting to really hurt. I start to panic because the noise of the camera stops. Stops for a really long time. Did they see something not right and now looking at the picture consulting with one another. I am panicking. I squeeze the emergency button in my hand repeatedly, the nurse comes in. She goes to the front of the tunnel to speak to me while grabbing my hand. Her voice calming me instantly. She grabs a chair, puts head phones on and sits there holding my hand encouraging me that I can do this. So now I have Mike holding my feet and this angel nurse holding my hands. I’m half way done…they inject the dye, I keep swallowing making sure my throat isn’t closing up. I close my eyes, my nose still dripping. I pray, begging who ever it is up there to give me a clean bill of health. Making promise after promise to be better in life if they would just grant me this…

Finally 25 minutes later the noise stops, they remove me from the tunnel, the nurse hands me a Kleenex to wipe my face and tells me how proud she is of me for getting through it…She removes my IV, I thank her endlessly and know I’ll never forget her. It takes everything I have not to go into the room where the techs are, begging them to just tell me now what they saw. But I don’t of course. And now I wait..

All I can do is wait…

KG

XX

“Fear does not stop death, it stops life”

    Kelsey Glover

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