My Cancer in Bullet Points #4

Today is Bone Scan Day.

* Bone Scan Day should be captitalized because it is an event, like Independence Day and Thanksgiving, although generally not celebrated.

* I have never had a bone scan before.

* I read they inject you with some stuff; and then scan to take a peek into the skeletal components of your being. All that you hide with skin, muscles, and clothes is exposed while proffesional strangers montitor the scanner.

* But I am not a medical expert, so let me give you a defintion from a source that knows more than I do.

* The Cleveland Clinic defines a bone scan like this: A whole-body bone scan is a nuclear medicine test to check your bones for issues or changes. You receive an injection of a substance called a radiotracer. The radiotracer collects in areas of irregular activity and highlights these areas on an imaging scan. It’s painless and safe for most people.

* Daniel had a bone scan. He was three, newly diagnosed with neuroblastoma.

* While on the table, he created a song.

* The song went like this: "Heaven, Heaven, Heaven is a good place to stay."

* I am sure I will not be that uninhibited to sing amoung professional strangers today.

* Unless, they inject something that rhymes with gum into my veins.

* Otherwise, I will be still and follow the instructions.

* I wonder what my bones, which I like to keep hidden, look like?

* I have never broken a bone, so I am not well-versed in scans or x-rays.

* Nearly six decades ago, during the summer when men walked on the moon, I almost broke a bone.

* If you have a few minutes between thinking about the sides you plan to make for your Thanksgiving meal, please read the tale below.

* I call it The Thirty-Two Dollar Somersault.

~*~*~

The Thirty-Two Dollar Somersault

If you've never broken a bone, there are times when you know you came close. A slip, a fall, a wrong move, many of us had had near-bone-breaking experiences. The first one I had was the summer they put a man on the moon, 1969. I was eight; my brother Vince was five, and we were bored.

Now there was a wide yard at my grandparents' split-level home in Sandston, Virginia where we spent that summer. The yard even had a swingset. There were croquet mallets, balls, wickets, and the whole outdoors. This was back in the day when children were permitted to play outside without supervision.

But instead of heading outside, Vince and I were indoors. Grandma Patsy might have been in the kitchen, adding lima beans to her soup. My parents and Granddad were in the den, talking about things kids don't understand.

"I can do a somersault down the stairs," I said to Vince as we sat at the top of a set of stairs that led to the living room. I can guarantee I used a prideful tone. I was, and still am, three years older and older sisters are notorious for boasting.

My brother's eyes dared me.

"Yeah, I can do it. I bet you can't." I was not a scaredy cat.

Vince made no attempt to roll down the upstairs landing into the living room.

So it had to be me. Like an Olympian gymnnist, my turn was up. My boast was about to be cemented in reality.

I got into position. Crouched down. (When I googled somersault just now; something no human was capable of doing back in the pre-Doom Scroll era of 1969, here is the definition that was presented: "An acrobatic stunt in which the body rolls forward or backward in a complete revolution with the knees bent and the feet coming over the head.")

And even though I had never read that definition, that is exactly what I did down the six or eight carpeted stairs at my grandparents' house.

I don't know if I screamed when I landed or cried; most likely both. The adults came running.

I don't recall anything about the car ride to the doctor's, but I do remember this: My wrist was not broken. The bone had popped out from where it belongs. The doctor adjusted the dislocated bone back into place. One or two moves and I was cured.

The doctor smiled, obviously pleased with his work. Then he charged my dad $32.00.

I saw my future-self seated at a desk while patients stood in line so I could tug at their wrists and put them back into place. For thirty-two dollars a pop, I could be rich.

But I didn't take the route of medicine. I avoided anyone in a white coat. I didn't take the route of gymnastics either.

Even though the humilitation of that summer day is embedded in the recesses of my mind, I try to overcome it by thinking, "Well, at least I didn't break a bone."

And up until now, I haven't. Yet.

~*~*~*~

If you have read this far, thank you! I appreciate your support and prayers for Bone Scan Day. I will post again when the results become available. The main question is: Has my breast cancer metastized to the bones or will all be clear and clean?

Verse of the Day (that came into my in-box just now)

1 Thessalonians 5:18

. . . give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.