I’ve been sick for basically this entire calendar year. In fact, sicker and sicker as the weeks went by. To the point where I was barely at work in March. Even when I was there I often had to go home early.

I can’t tell you how many doctor appointments I have had this year. How many lab tests, screenings and prescriptions. None of it helped or gave me any answers. Some of it was expensive, all of it inconvenient, but only one was truly frightening: I had to go get a CT scan of my lungs to see if I had cancer.

“I don’t have cancer,” I confidently told my doctor.

Later that night I thought to myself: I probably have cancer.

The appointment came and went. Three days went by while I waited for my doctor to get the results. Then they called. They wanted me to come in–tomorrow–to discuss the results.

Fuck. I have cancer.

I Googled survival rates for lung cancer. It wasn’t good. Five year survival rates are less than 30% overall. And I am symptomatic so it’s likely not an early stage.

I’m going to die. Soon. 

Waiting for that appointment was a rough 24 hours. Thank goodness for all the people who take care of me.

The next day I went in and learned that I do not in fact have cancer. It was an unbelievable relief. But I was still sick. We tried steroids. We tried narcotics. None of it worked. Sometimes it made things worse.

And then, a few days ago, things started to ease up. I have been relatively symptom-free for three days. Still no idea what any of it was. But I am going to two more doctors over the next few weeks to see if we can figure it out.

Being sick sucks. If you are sick, I empathize with you.