CT scans and knowing

CT scans. I hate them.

I hate how they slice me up like a salami every 5 mm and then use some mathematical wizardry to reconstruct my innards. What you get is shadows. What casts them is the different x-ray densities of the tissues being spied upon. It my case it is the mesenteric or gut nodes that will tell my story.

The radiation exposure is considerable. Maybe equivalent to 400 chest x-ray, And since the belly is nearly always shot with and without contrast, the exposure is doubled. Hence my decision to forego the viewing pleasure of my chest and neck. The gut is where the action is or isn't. Why redouble my exposure for little more data?

Some malfunctioning CT scans here in LA were delivering massive overdoses of x-rays, unbeknownst to patient and doctor alike. They weren't just imaging the cancer, they were frying it. More likely nudging it, tilting its already chaotic genetic balance to tumble down, who knows where. That however is not my worry.

I avoid them become I become despondent in the weeks before despite my best efforts.

I live now in the realm of all that is possible, including a miracle. On Friday, I sacrifice on the altar of science and the need to know, the infinitely plausible in order to tentatively grab at ,,,,, what? The reality of a fragile miracle happening in my gut and my marrow? A cancer saying goodbye? G-d willing! A confluence of bad boys covering each others' back like the worst street gang you ever saw? G-d forbid. A hint of remission or at least a significant retreat of my most persistent enemy in its favored hangout? Or no change? Or a tiny change or a little up or a little down or a little of both?

Forget the radiation risks, the barium, the clear liquids, the weird flush feeling from the IV dyes that carry the risk of allergic reactions and renal damage.

What bothers me is that it seems too prying, too invasive.

Too knowing.

It is the surrender of all possibilities that makes me hate CT scans.

But I must march headlong into knowing. Even Moses, with G-d on his side, sent scouts ahead to check out Canaan.

I am confident that I will get a better report than Moses. And although my ancestors did spend too long wandering the desert, largely as a result of their reaction to the spies' reports, we do know that they finally did enter the promised land.

I will not wander from my goal.

" I want someone to talk to me like Moses" Randi McMatthew

How old do you think Moses was when he saw the burning bush?

80 years old. And although he was to live to 120, he was still well past the prime of his life. I was reminded today of that fact when reading the Torah at services.

I have seen no burning bushes, heard no voices, never stood up to corrupt power mano a mano, been no agent of liberation for a whole nation, climbed no mountains, received no revelations, put down no rebellions, lead no people for 40 years through a moral, psychological, and physical transition from slavery to freedom, and I have never glanced into the promise land.

Moses did all this, and he started as octogenarian, dying some 40 years later at the edge of the promised land.

When I am overwhelmed by fatigue and a sense of the trying struggles ahead, it is important to pick the right mythical hero.

A flawed, quick tempered, "tongue tied" hero, separated from his people and religion most of his life, Moses is not for me an object of admiration of worship but a flesh and blood example of how to behave when you get the call to action. How to use what gifts you have, despite your age and limits.

Hey, I am only 58 and some say I have the gift of the gab, both advantages over my teacher.

My struggles are trivial. Limited. Not historical or mythical.

I have no grand delusions. I just want a cure, and by that cure, and the story of its twists and turns, I hope to shine a small light on on way out of the maze of sickness and despair for others lost in the dark.