My Life Between Scans
Last week marked the second anniversary of my cancer journey—and, fittingly, I was scheduled for a CT scan to check the status of my tumors. Earlier, these scans felt routine, almost like a task to be checked off my to-do list. But over time, they’ve delivered news that shattered me. Each scan now carries the weight of everything that could go wrong. I’ve had treatments changed, plans uprooted, and hopes bruised—all because of what those images revealed. What was once a chore is now a source of dread. These days, I live with scanxiety—an anxious spiral that begins before the scan and doesn’t let up until days later, when I finally sit across from my doctor to hear the verdict. Those in-between days are the hardest: sleepless, tense, and brimming with what-ifs.
These scanxieties don’t explode all at once—they creep in quietly, catching me off guard. I might be scrolling through pictures of Spain when a voice whispers, You may never get to see this beautiful place. Or I’ll be watching a movie where a couple walks hand in hand along the beach, and a part of my heart cracks open, reminded of the serenity I’ve longed for but never fully lived. But alongside that ache lives a part of me that is, perhaps, dangerously optimistic. I begin to stitch together softer possibilities: what if the scan shows progress? What if the worst isn’t waiting this time?
Since nothing in my life comes easy, neither do these scans. I’m severely allergic to the contrast dye used during CT scans, which means I have to start preloading on steroids and antihistamines a day in advance—then pray my body surrenders to the dye without a fight. It’s not just the scan I dread; it’s the buildup, the reaction, the aftermath. And once the scan is done, the waiting begins. I find myself refreshing the MyChart portal every hour, hoping the results have been uploaded. My mind becomes a cocktail of contradictions—each emotion pulling in a different direction, each one bracing for a different version of the truth.
To survive these stretches of uncertainty, I reach out for whatever steadies me. It could be reaching out for a boring book, or messaging a friend whom I trust will listen to me. Sometimes I let myself cry for no apparent reason. On other days, I lie on my bed scrolling through my phone mindlessly. Some days, I clean my apartment if my body is up for it. Recently, I created a list of movies featuring characters like me in the story, and I've been watching them every night. This has been one of the most calming activities I've ever experienced. I also have a journal that I enjoy filling with good memories or random thoughts. Apart from this, I also reach out to my friends and make plans to meet up or whip up a dreamy vacation we might take together. These aren’t a cure, nor will they alter the situation. However, they give me the option of choosing softness in the face of the fear that is ubiquitous.
I was oblivious to scanxiety a year ago, but now it is strengthening its grip on my life. On Reddit, I have seen many folks share the struggle of living from one scan to another, and I used to have immense respect for their strength. But now, I feel slightly jealous because I don't know how many such scans I have in my journey. Carrying the weight of the unknown while showing up for life is turning out to be the most challenging journey thus far. To anyone who shares this emotion, let me remind you - you are not alone. In my quiet moments of struggle, I often think of this line from The Bell Jar: 'I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.’
