Getting my fix

I never get tired of a good report from the doctor. My latest check-up Wednesday followed a familiar routine that has become addictive.

First comes the blood draw for the necessary lab report, but it is not painful thanks to the medi-port that still sits just under the skin on my right shoulder blade. Next a medical technician checks me in, going through a list of questions to remind me how well I am doing as I answer negatively to queries about pain, fatigue or other problems. Then there are the too-slow minutes waiting in the exam room with unbidden what-if thoughts keeping me company.

Finally, the doctor appears in the doorway and my senses go on high alert. My eyes search his face for signals while my ears strain to hear the words that are my fix for the next several months: "Your scans are fine."

There were plenty of times in the days leading up to and shortly after my February 2009 surgery that I was really tired of what seemed to be endless visits to doctors. Now I look forward to the welcome validation of my health.

I have been deeply blessed, and every few months, a doctor reminds me so.