Alyson

“Can you come with me, Miss Williams?”

I followed the lab tech guy through the door and down the halls, which were surprisingly more decorated than I would have thought the walls of an Imaging Center would be. He took me back to the shaded room where my mom was having her PET scan.

If you are not familiar with a PET scan, here’s the sitch: You don’t eat beforehand, at all, you get an IV and drink a quart of iodine solution an hour prior, change into a hospital gown, and get strapped to a board where you will have to remain, motionless, as you are slowly moved through a small, cylindrical opening in a big machine.

My mom was, is, and will be, the source of all my confidence and strength. She gave me my backbone (literally and metaphorically). That’s why I wasn’t surprised to see her lying still on the table. But for the same reason, I was surprised to hear from this guy that she had made him come get me because she was freaking out.

I sat next to her head and released every bit of information I had: that dream I had last night, internet jerks, the weather (obviously), CNN, some funny stuff (but not too much funny stuff). Imagine Shoshanna from Girls trying to comfort someone frantic during a PET scan and you basically get the picture.

I can usually give really thoughtful advice. However, a lot of that advice is to people my age. And most of them haven’t survived cancer. That was the hardest part of witnessing my mom being forced to face her trigger. I know what she feels, but I don’t know. My kryptonite. ♦