Help my Unbelief

So, I get to wake up at 5:45 tomorrow morning and drink bottle #1 of contrast. I get to drive away from my home at 6:45, beginning bottle#2, to be ready for my 7:15 CT Scan. The point - to spot any unusual cell growth that would call itself cancer. That seems easy enough. Every time I have another scan (every 3 months) I think, it's so not blog-worthy. Tonight as I am about to crawl into bed I have unbelief.

• The first cancer they spotted wasn't in my chest/abdomen/pelvis, which is where the CT scans are. It was in my arm and in my left armpit lymph nodes. So, my heart says, "What's the point?" My brain knows that melanoma cells can morph into a variety of other cancers, so the point is huge.
• I anticipate frustration as they attempt to stick me yet again with an IV for during-scan contrast. I had a great run today, and I will do all I can to get my veins to stick out at them, but lately I've been extra-emotional about everything. I won't write out the laundry-list, but there is extra these days.
  
• Going to the scan center alone is lonely. Going with another person is also lonely. No one gets to hold my hand through the entire procedure, gets to calm my heart filled with wonderings, gets to speak truth to the depths of my soul that God is God - and these things my Savior can do like no one else can. So, I guess I'm not alone.
  

I am thankful for so many things: I am alive. I am in community. I love. I am loved. The woman who is directing the scan in the morning has a dynamite heart and beautiful selfless mannerisms that calm me. I am not walking into tomorrow morning concerned about any particular spot.

I do believe. God help my unbelief.