A friend of mine who has lived with cancer for many years, share the term “scan-xiety” with me the other day. This is the anxiety one feels when having upcoming scans/tests to identify or monitor the progress of a disease or medical condition.  What will the scans show? For someone living with cancer, it is the anxiety that the cancer has spread, or if in remission, that is has come back.  

Lloyd and I experienced scan-xiety these past two weeks before our scheduled 6-month follow-up at UVA’s Emily Couric Cancer Center on June 1.  Back on May 19, we ended up in the local ER after a lingering cough Lloyd had been dealing with began showing signs of blood. Tests and x-rays showed the beginning of pneumonia, but it also showed some changes in his lungs, possibly indicative of progression of his disease. The ER doctor suggested we follow-up with Lloyd’s oncologist and sent us home with a prescription for antibiotics.  We consulted with the oncologist the next day, and since the scans (CT and MRI) were already scheduled for June 1, we agreed to wait until then to do anything further. This would also give time for the antibiotics to clear up any infection in his lungs, so we could get a clear picture of what was happening with Lloyd’s lung cancer.

The past two weeks were hard as we waited for June 1 to arrive. It is so difficult not to imagine the worst, and we began to prepare ourselves to receive bad news.  Neither of us slept well the night before the visit, and it was a relief to finally get in the car and drive to UVA, knowing that we would get some answers, even if they might be tough ones. But thankfully the scans came back showing that Lloyd’s cancer is still under control, with no signs that it has spread further. He still has some lingering signs of pneumonia, but that should clear up over time.  It was with much lighter hearts that we headed home to Harrisonburg, reassured that while we still need to manage Lloyd’s fatigue and occasional light-headedness, we can move forward with our plans to do some travel over the next few months. 

I have recently been pondering the word, liminal (often used in the phrase, liminal space), as Lloyd and I experience living with his cancer diagnosis.  What exactly is liminal space? According to the Mirriam-Webster dictionary, liminal is defined as relating to, or being in an intermediate state, phase, or condition.  The Oxford Dictionary defines it as occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.  Both of those definitions seem appropriate as we go through each day doing common things – eat, sleep, go to church, clean house, spend time with friends and family, pay bills, watch TV, read, take walks, play games. All the activities of a normal life overshadowed by the specter of Lloyd’s cancer.  We know that Lloyd has a terminal disease, and we want to be prepared for the future, yet not dwell there and miss out on the present. Each day we look for joy and beauty and thank God for another day.

But it is challenging. Living in liminal space takes effort. You must deliberately choose to appreciate each day, to focus on the current moment, to hold at bay your fear of the future.  It can be exhausting, yet strangely, also a blessing. Living in this “not yet” time has heightened my awareness and appreciation for the small things in life.  The beauty of my flower garden, the joy in our grandchildren’s laughter, the warmth of conversation with friends, the smell of baking bread, the solace of a hug.  

We know that there will be more scan-xiety in our future. But there is also hope. And gratitude, so much gratitude for the many prayers and love surrounding us. Despite everything, we can say that life is good.