Less than a week after landing from our trip to Norway, we were back on a plane, heading to New York for my pre-op in preparation for Monday’s ablation. I’m already doing that thing where I am anxiously over-tuned into my body, alert for any sign it might give me. Why am I so tired? Is that my immune system kicking in, or is it just jetlag?
In spite of countless therapy sessions spent unpacking magical thinking, I still fall victim to it:
Have I had too much fun in Norway? Did I meditate enough, think healing thoughts too little? Did just a little wine almost every day add up to too much wine overall? Were the carcinogens in all that salami counteracted by daily naps? Did I hike enough to burn off all that Norwegian chocolate before it could fuel my cancer?
(Spending time in Norway felt more healing than healthy.)
So when I went in for labs, I was bracing myself for a read on my CEA: a protein that is released by the cancer and a reliable leading indicator for me, climbing noticeably with each recurrence.
I was a little surprised (and a lot relieved) when my CEA came back stable. While I’m not sure what to make of the fact that it isn’t increasing, I figure it can’t be a bad sign.
But you know what I was definitely NOT bracing myself for?
A positive pregnancy test! 😂😂😂
I mean, I’m down for a miracle - but this was a complication we definitely didn’t expect.
To be clear, it’s definitely a false positive. But they wouldn’t take my word for it, so I’ll be heading back for a second pregnancy test on Sunday afternoon. I am supposed to arrive at my ablation Monday afternoon at 1:15, so they have enough time to confirm my seriously-not-pregnant status.
And once Per gives the word, we all know what to do: you’ll send stars, and I’ll stay positive!