"I'll never be normal again."

X:  Nope, you won't be.  People like us don't go back to normal after this.

Me:  Nope, we don't.

X:  You're staring down the barrel with me, wondering if I'm going to dodge a bullet, and this is what we do.

And that, readers, is how conversations go between people like me who've been there, done that, and face the very real sucky reality of life when scan time is upon us.

Are we dodging a bullet that doesn't exist or are we dodging the bullet this time, or is it that we'll get lucky and there is no bullet to dodge, ever?

After a diagnosis like X and I (and others--always countless others) have had, there is no normal.