{"id":1944,"date":"2025-10-23T07:54:17","date_gmt":"2025-10-23T05:54:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.data-pro.nu\/?p=1944"},"modified":"2025-10-23T07:54:17","modified_gmt":"2025-10-23T05:54:17","slug":"%f0%9f%a9%b5-kankerlicht-ontbijt-en-radioactief-suiker","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.data-pro.nu\/en\/%f0%9f%a9%b5-kankerlicht-ontbijt-en-radioactief-suiker\/","title":{"rendered":"\u2047 Cancer light \u2013 Breakfast and radioactive sugar"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a>15:33 The bell that no one wants to hear<\/h3>\n

It was a call on Friday afternoon at 15:33. I was just preparing a kwis beer tasting. In a few minutes my afternoon changed from light to heavy. Since then, I've been trying to write down everything that happens. Not to get pity, but to keep my head and heart together. These blogs are my way of understanding, sharing and showing how I deal with them \u2013 sometimes serious, sometimes humorous, but always real.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cLife does not call in advance to ask if it is convenient.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2047 Breakfast at 7:01<\/h3>\n

That's where I am. Breakfast at 7:01. It starts today. First an ultrasound, then a PET scan. I have to stay sober for six hours, so I got up extra early to get something to eat. The rest of the house is asleep. Daughter with her boyfriend, son in dreamland, and Sylvia trying to get some rest. She'll need it today, because we're going to Amsterdam together. Tonight we sleep in a hotel, because tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock an MRI is planned.
I feel like I'm on my way to an exam I haven't been able to learn for. I try to pretend it's an ordinary day, but every bite tastes like excitement. The coffee tastes too bitter, the bread too dry. My mind is moving in all directions, what if they find something I don't want to hear? Or worse, what if they don't find anything and we have to look further. I try to calm myself down, but my voice doesn't sound convincing.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cHope is the only option that does not require preparation.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2047 The sugar that radiates<\/h3>\n

At a quarter past one I get radioactive sugar injected. That sounds like something out of a science fiction movie, but today it's just my afternoon program. After that I have to lie still for an hour in a dark room. Yesterday I was not allowed to make any physical effort. Apparently, you can't sweat when you're glowing. Don't move, don't think, just wait for the light to turn on again.
Apparently, the sugar should be able to do its job without my muscles playing along. I imagine it slowly wanders through my body, like a fluorescent ghost looking for places where it doesn't belong.
Sylvia packed food for later. She knows how I get when I'm hungry. She smiles as she packs sandwiches, as if she's just having a fun day out. That helps. Her calmness keeps me afloat, even when I feel like it's not me.
Sylvia packed food for later. It's like a post-nuclear picnic basket. I see her smile, her calm efficiency. She's my anchor, I'm her lightly radioactive cargo.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cSometimes love is just someone who makes sure food is ready after your scan.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2047 The dust in me<\/h3>\n

The pathologist found dead horned squamous cells in my tumour. They belong on the skin, not in the neck. That scares me. It's the cells that we all know as that dust in the sun. Little bits of old life that have done their job and let go.
So yes, I'm from dust, but apparently also internal<\/em>. That sounds almost poetic, but I'd rather my poetry wasn't on the cutting table. The doctors don't seem worried, but my head is. Every time I hear the word \u2018horned\u2019, my stomach contracts. It's like my body is trying to tell me something I don't want to know yet.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cWe are dust, they say. But I had hoped it would remain figurative for the time being.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2047 The Circle of Attention<\/h3>\n

It's amazing to see who's around you. Some people send long messages, others just a thumbs up. No one does it wrong, but the differences are noticeable. There are people who cancel their appointments and others who live silently at a distance.
What touches me the most are the messages that come at crazy times. People who think of me in the middle of the night, or very early in the morning before they go to work. As if they couldn't sleep for a while, or just couldn't start without saying something. Those moments feel sincere and close, as if time lived a little longer.
I see the differences, but they are not judgments. Every message, every sign, every heart under the belt counts. I appreciate them all. Maybe I've become more sensitive, or just more honest. Maybe that's part of this stage of not knowing. Everything seems sharper, every look, every message, every quiet moment in which someone says nothing but means everything.<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cAttention has no yardstick, only a direction: towards each other.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\n

\u2047 For now<\/h3>\n

For now, this is where I am. Today the ultrasound and the PET scan, tomorrow the MRI. And somewhere, hovering between the conversations, the prospect of a viewing operation. They say it's planned for sure, but strangely enough, it's not in our digital file. That feels like a bad joke from the universe.
I hope it won't be necessary. But deep down, I know that sometimes hope is too light to bear fear. 'Cause I'm looking up to that viewing operation. Just the idea that someone is literally going to look into my throat makes me cold inside. Still, I smile when I see Sylvia packing for the hotel. She's got something reassuring about her, like she's saying: Whatever comes, we'll do it together.
The fear remains. The uncertainty too. But as long as there's coffee, and words, and she's next to me, I'll keep writing. Maybe that's my way of staying afloat in a world that's always wobbly.<\/p>\n

\n

\u2018Heaviness may have light. And light sometimes weighs surprisingly much.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

15:33 The bell no one wants to hear It was a call on Friday afternoon at 15:33. I was just preparing a kwis beer tasting. In a few minutes my afternoon changed from light to heavy. Since then, I've been trying to write down everything that happens. Not to feel sorry, but to 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