On December 31, I'll have a PET scan to determine my response to radioimmunotherapy. On January 2nd, I'll meet with my oncologist to discuss the results of the PET scan (which will be, to the day, 240 days after this whole adventure started).

I'm trying my best not to think very much about the scan or results right now, but with only limited success. I've confessed before to being a bit obsessive, and while it's mostly for comic effect, it's also true. So my mind doesn't switch into Bobby McFerrin "Don't Worry, Be Happy" mode very easily.

In fact, I'm sure my mind has no such mode.

Instead, my mind has an immediate "DEFCON 4" mode, and it automatically hits all the alarms and red lights whenever I'm not keeping close attention. I'm a walking contradiction, I'll admit. On the one hand, I'm something of a pollyanna, adopting a "we'll solve the problem" attitude and projecting it, as much as I can, to others around me. And I really mean it when I say it: I think it, deep down inside. Whatever the issue, I always believe there's a solution, and a glimmer of hope, and a way out of the darkness.

But there's also a deep part of me, a dark heart, that focuses much more on the problems than the solutions. Maybe not the loudest voice in the chorus, but definitely part of it. It's the voice that always asks "What if?", which makes it the most difficult voice to ignore. What if I don't have a full response to radioimmunotherapy now? What if I don't have a full response at six months? What if I don't have a full response ever? What if this scan actually shows I've progressed?

Now, I know the odds are with me on this treatment. It's succeeded for the vast majority of people who have had it, and especially so in a clinical trial of people who had it as a first therapy. But then, I've already defied some pretty good odds simply be getting lymphoma, so what if...?

To tell the truth, it's not as if every waking moment is spent in this struggle. Not many waking moments are at all. But I know, as of January 2nd, this phase I've become comfortable with will be over, and I'll be entering a new phase. Right now, I'm in the hopeful expectation phase: I've done what I can to treat the disease, and I can look to the future with bright confidence. But this next phase will end all that. It won't be the confident future; it will be the unavoidable present. Maybe that unavoidable present will include good news for me, but maybe it won't yet. Maybe it won't at six months.

And so, the internal struggle continues. I have to admit, if I don't have a full response at this point (which, truth be told, I probably won't), it may be a rough stretch. That puts more pressure on six month scans, and perhaps even more pressure on nine month scans. The what ifs are bound to keep piling up.

Even so, with the PET scan only five days away now, I have to focus on the what if I'm praying for: What if I'm in remission?

Let's just say I have high hopes for 2008.