The Jitters Are Back

It's now only a couple of days until my next gang of seven clinic and, as has become the norm, the jitters are back.


It doesn't matter how many positive outcomes I get, come the time for these clinics, I always hunker down into a state of "fear" and doubt.  By now I should be accepting of good news - I've certainly had enough of it over the last year - but I just can't overcome that latent concern that as some stage things won't be as rosy at one of these visits.


I shouldn't be worried really.  After all, my last appointment with Mr Gillingham delivered a clean bill as far as he was concerned, and Mr Morrisey gave me a good poke & prod while he was doing the hearing test a month ago - he was also happy (and given he was the one who confirmed the diagnosis, that does speak volumes).  My weight seems to be staying pretty static (clothes may maketh the man, but they also screw around with the result if you don't remember to wear the same clothes each time you step on the scales - and you've got to also remember to weigh yourself at the same time of day ), my eating has settled down and levels of energy continue to creep upwards.  Sure the immune system is still a tad dodgy, but you can't expect miracles, especially at this time of year with all the winter weather challenges.


So why do I still feel apprehensive about Wednesday afternoon?  I honestly don't know.  At this time in the cycle, I end up kicking the PMA into overdrive to compensate for this "negativity" and each time I think I've got this under control.  Three months later and inevitably I'm going through it all again.  With each passing cycle, the odds of bad news surfacing lessen, but my concerns don't.


I'm putting it down to it just being a perfectly normal reaction that any survivor of a potentially terminal disease will feel.  Maybe it has something to do with not accepting you've beaten the odds.  Oh well, it's only for another couple of days.