Curled (metaphorically) in a fetal position, thanks to Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma

I have entered into another period of 'scan dancing' - that special time in a cancer patient's/survivor's/fighter's life when you get the concerned look on the doctor's face during a checkup, and they refer you to a scan to check things out further. After the dances I was put through in 2006 when they were trying to determine what had invaded my left cheek (mumps? lymphoma?), then again in 2007 when I was trying my best to grow a unicorn horn out of my radiated skull over my left ear, you would think that I would be used to the rhythm and be able to glide along, tra-la-la. During the day, I think I manage the steps well - I am productive, and am keeping up with duties at work. I drive vehicles, navigate traffic, purchase items, laugh at tv humor, and can attempt higher math problems. But outside of those 8 hours where my time is the boss' and my customers', I am a wreck. I haven't been able to be productive on projects at home and on my own computer. I can't even do well emailing friends at the moment. I have scheduled my crying times to coincide with showers or when family members are out of the house - since the parotid removal and radiation, I don't do crying well (huh - like I ever did before cancer). I try so hard "not to go there", to consider cancer as the reason when there are aches/pains/new lumps in various parts of my already lumpy body. Hey, I know that I could drop from a heart attack or be hit by a bus instead of dying due to Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma. I have been told I am lucky (by health care providers), that this is a slow cancer. (Yippee. Would have liked the lottery instead, guys.) I have become an expert patient on this disease, learning that just because you have a couple of tumors in the lungs or liver or bone, it isn't the end of the world - you can live for a decade or more with lumpy ACC lungs, according to research. So I should be able to handle an extra scan or two added to the regular scheduled ones, right? But sometimes it really gets to me, usually in the middle of the night, like now. Waiting for that other shoe to drop (because it usually does with this cancer), and having that diagnoses of metastases given to me, proving that the original treatment to prevent more cancer has failed. I knew when I went through the 6 weeks of radiation treatment that it may not keep cancer away, but it is the hope that it did that has kept me going to work daily, making plans for the future, taking on projects. I have learned to juggle life again with the added ball of 'past' cancer. I don't want to contemplate adding another ball of current cancer to the juggling collection, yet that is what I have to do on some level each time they shove me into an MRI tube or do a CT or chest xray or ultrasound. I just glance over to the guy tossing me the balls to juggle, and every once in a while he reaches over towards the shelf that has the Current Cancer ball, making me think he is going to toss it into the air for me. So far, he hasn't, but the anticipation is always there. The only way I have been able to do all of this to this point has been viewing myself as a breathing mulitmedia educational tool for students, residents, and faculty - there has to be some point to my going through all of this repeatedly, other than someone in the hospital winning the office pool by guessing correctly when the Cheeky Librarian grows her first met (I want to put money in that pool, guys - Lucky the dog needs a new bone!).
I see my family doc tomorrow to get some skinny on a questionable abdominal ultrasound result - I should know more in a few days about what the next steps will be, if there are any. Don't count that office pool finished yet - I still have some cheeky left, and I have a feeling that that is the best way to fight my personal cancer.