The Race.

Being diagnosed with cancer is like the gun going off at the start of a 100-meter-sprint. Except you don’t quite know which way to run…

My surgery needs to happen within two weeks and I don’t even have a surgeon yet. I could take the option to delay and put in a stint short term to open up the blockage, but it will run the risk of my cancer spreading…

It’s my last day in LA. So I see my doctor first thing in the morning to have my bloods taken from my bruised veins for genetic testing, CEA and CA-19. I drive to Melrose Ave to grab my CT scans. Then rush to the pathology lab on Beverly Blvd to pick up the slides of my tumor. It’s so weird to say out loud, “I have a tumor”. A scientist greets me in his white coat and walks me through the bright lab were other young scientists are studying biopsies. I feel like I’m on the set of NCIS and “Abby” will rush around the corner with her pony-tails and spiked neck choker. The head scientist picks up the envelope with my slides and hands it to me. He pauses for a moment and I notice a gentle empathy in his eyes as he wishes me well and says goodbye…

As my plane lifts off the tarmac I think of the life I have built in LA. I realise I have to surrender and let it go, at least for a while.

The city lights fall away from me. I tell myself I have a new dream, a dream to stay alive and win the race…

Love, Kerry Doyle xx

Photo Credit: @majawyh