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I would very much like to trade places with anyone, just for a while.
Never mind. This is not the sort of dilemma that I would wish on anyone. Even her. I can still hear her clanking along in those high heels like a five year old playing dress up.
It's been a hellish roller coaster ride week.
On Tuesday, I had my regularly scheduled six month breast cancer check up. No big deal, right? Think again. I had to take the cancer tumor marker test, CA 15-3. You get a number for a result. Anything under 30 is acceptable. Over 30? Abnormal. My numbers have always been between 20-24. Until six months ago. It was 36. My oncologist was not concerned as my other blood tests were good. Plus. I was just getting over a nasty bout of the flu and she said we would take a look see at the next six month mark. I let it go. I have learned to just let things go in the last few years. It is what you do when you deal with cancer. If you worry over every little thing, you will slowly (or quickly, your choice) go insane.
So, I went to labs and yesterday, Dr. P's nurse called with the results.
93.
Well. Well, now. This was not good. It was nearly five o'clock when she called me and I was so shocked that I could barely ask intelligent questions.
Nurse: Hi, Mrs. Blank, it's Erica from Dr. P's office. I'm calling with your lab results.
Me: Huh? (frantically trying to think which labs these are from...I have had three this week....) Oh, Um. Ok.
Nurse: Your CA 15-3 levels were 93.
Long pause while I feel like my windpipe will not work.
Me: Um, pardon me?
Nurse: Your CA 15-3 levels. They were 93.
Me: Isn't that like really high?
Nurse: Yes. Dr. P would like to wait until November 6 and retest to see if the numbers improve at that time.
Me: Um...wait. I am scheduled to have a thyroid ablation on that day. And after that, I will be in isolation for a week.
Nurse: Well..ok. Let's schedule it for Nov 5th, then?
Me: (dumbly getting out my datebook) Um...ok. What time?
Nurse: 7:30?
I said okay and hung up. And then. just.sat.there. staring.
93!!! Holy fucking shit. 93???
Panic set in. That was really high, wasn't it? Why were we waiting? T came home and we talked. Since I had another appointment with my general practitioner doctor the next day, we agreed that I would talk it over with him. This was not good news. And while I am used to waiting, this was a LONG wait.
93?? Good hell.
I went to bed and just lay sprawled, not sleeping. Heard a strange sound. What was that noise? It sounded so...it sounded like weeping. Tiptoeing into the hall, wrapped in a blanket, I peered around the wall.
T was sitting on the sofa. Weeping into her hands. This was so not good. I felt my eyes burning and if I was a better person, I would have went to her.
I didn't. I just froze. I was so sick with fear myself that I knew I would never be able to hold it together with her. And then she would do what she does best. She would buck up and take me in her arms and tell me that it was going to be okay, that we would be okay. That going to Disneyland and getting that Luna Lovegood wand and going to Ireland were right around the corner, don't you worry, sweetie.
Because that is who she is. When bricks fall out of the sky, her first move is to shield me from them.
Instead, I went back to bed and fell into a miserable, cold sleep. When I woke up, she was in bed asleep.
It was dark and I moved my feet to touch hers. Not to wake her, just to touch her.
I'm sorry I didn't come hold you. I'm so sorry.
I shivered under the covers, missing my original oncologist, Dr. Lemon. He had moved to Washington not long after my breast cancer treatment was over. I fell back asleep only to wake up every hour, heart pounding, not sure what I was so scared of until I would remember.
Today, I went in to get my flu shot and see Dr. S, my general practitioner. I adore this man even though he looks like he is about 15. I told him my troubles while he sat, as always, patiently listening. Finally, he said, "I think you should call Dr. P and see why you have to wait so long. 93 is nothing to mess around with. Maybe there is some reason for the wait that you aren't privy to. In the meantime, I have some good news. Your labs show that your A1C is really good. You are managing that diabetes like a champ! So....SOME good news is better than none, right? Plus, I know you and I know T. That woman would walk through fire for you. If you asked her to buy you a baby elephant to keep in your basement, she'd find a way. I want you to know something. I admire you. I have always thought you were a total badass. Like, you look kind of fragile, but I bet you could fight a buzz saw if you needed to. I think you will be okay. I want you to know that I'll keep you in my thoughts. Good luck!"
It is obvious why I love this guy, right?
Anyway, I bolstered myself with a piping hot soy maple pecan latte. Venti. Went home and called Dr. P's nurse. Left a message. It usually takes all day to get a return call. Today, she returned my call within an hour. I don't really like her, but I liked her promptness. Two points for Slytherin.
Nurse: Hi, Mrs. Blank, I talked to Dr. P about your sityerashin. (situation...she is not great with words...) She says that she scheduled the labs right before your thyroid ablation because she knows it is a necessary procedure and if the CA 15-3 comes back still high, we will need a cat scan. We can't get one before your ablation because you can't have one within two months of your procedure.
Shit. Shit. I have a nodule on my thyroid that was biopsied in the summer and came back benign. The problem was that said nodule is growing against my windpipe and will eventually smother me. So, yeah. It is a needed procedure.
I now have a call into my third doctor, Dr. U, to see how long I have to wait after my ablation to get a cat scan.
I believe this is called a mother fucking, god damned snafu.
So, now. Waiting for a return call from Dr. U, who is doing her job and researching my sityerashin.
Should I sit on that hard place or that rock?
Scotty, beam me up. I am really sick of this one-thing-after-another shit and I think that if Obama were president maybe I could deal with my messy life a lot better. Knowing that Trump is in the driver's seat makes me feel like I am having a toddler drive me to the emergency room.
Actually, make that a reservation for two. I don't want to go anywhere without T. I also promise to never chicken out and walk away when she is crying again.
Because I'm a badass and that's how we roll......
Never mind. This is not the sort of dilemma that I would wish on anyone. Even her. I can still hear her clanking along in those high heels like a five year old playing dress up.
It's been a hellish roller coaster ride week.
On Tuesday, I had my regularly scheduled six month breast cancer check up. No big deal, right? Think again. I had to take the cancer tumor marker test, CA 15-3. You get a number for a result. Anything under 30 is acceptable. Over 30? Abnormal. My numbers have always been between 20-24. Until six months ago. It was 36. My oncologist was not concerned as my other blood tests were good. Plus. I was just getting over a nasty bout of the flu and she said we would take a look see at the next six month mark. I let it go. I have learned to just let things go in the last few years. It is what you do when you deal with cancer. If you worry over every little thing, you will slowly (or quickly, your choice) go insane.
So, I went to labs and yesterday, Dr. P's nurse called with the results.
93.
Well. Well, now. This was not good. It was nearly five o'clock when she called me and I was so shocked that I could barely ask intelligent questions.
Nurse: Hi, Mrs. Blank, it's Erica from Dr. P's office. I'm calling with your lab results.
Me: Huh? (frantically trying to think which labs these are from...I have had three this week....) Oh, Um. Ok.
Nurse: Your CA 15-3 levels were 93.
Long pause while I feel like my windpipe will not work.
Me: Um, pardon me?
Nurse: Your CA 15-3 levels. They were 93.
Me: Isn't that like really high?
Nurse: Yes. Dr. P would like to wait until November 6 and retest to see if the numbers improve at that time.
Me: Um...wait. I am scheduled to have a thyroid ablation on that day. And after that, I will be in isolation for a week.
Nurse: Well..ok. Let's schedule it for Nov 5th, then?
Me: (dumbly getting out my datebook) Um...ok. What time?
Nurse: 7:30?
I said okay and hung up. And then. just.sat.there. staring.
93!!! Holy fucking shit. 93???
Panic set in. That was really high, wasn't it? Why were we waiting? T came home and we talked. Since I had another appointment with my general practitioner doctor the next day, we agreed that I would talk it over with him. This was not good news. And while I am used to waiting, this was a LONG wait.
93?? Good hell.
I went to bed and just lay sprawled, not sleeping. Heard a strange sound. What was that noise? It sounded so...it sounded like weeping. Tiptoeing into the hall, wrapped in a blanket, I peered around the wall.
T was sitting on the sofa. Weeping into her hands. This was so not good. I felt my eyes burning and if I was a better person, I would have went to her.
I didn't. I just froze. I was so sick with fear myself that I knew I would never be able to hold it together with her. And then she would do what she does best. She would buck up and take me in her arms and tell me that it was going to be okay, that we would be okay. That going to Disneyland and getting that Luna Lovegood wand and going to Ireland were right around the corner, don't you worry, sweetie.
Because that is who she is. When bricks fall out of the sky, her first move is to shield me from them.
Instead, I went back to bed and fell into a miserable, cold sleep. When I woke up, she was in bed asleep.
It was dark and I moved my feet to touch hers. Not to wake her, just to touch her.
I'm sorry I didn't come hold you. I'm so sorry.
I shivered under the covers, missing my original oncologist, Dr. Lemon. He had moved to Washington not long after my breast cancer treatment was over. I fell back asleep only to wake up every hour, heart pounding, not sure what I was so scared of until I would remember.
Today, I went in to get my flu shot and see Dr. S, my general practitioner. I adore this man even though he looks like he is about 15. I told him my troubles while he sat, as always, patiently listening. Finally, he said, "I think you should call Dr. P and see why you have to wait so long. 93 is nothing to mess around with. Maybe there is some reason for the wait that you aren't privy to. In the meantime, I have some good news. Your labs show that your A1C is really good. You are managing that diabetes like a champ! So....SOME good news is better than none, right? Plus, I know you and I know T. That woman would walk through fire for you. If you asked her to buy you a baby elephant to keep in your basement, she'd find a way. I want you to know something. I admire you. I have always thought you were a total badass. Like, you look kind of fragile, but I bet you could fight a buzz saw if you needed to. I think you will be okay. I want you to know that I'll keep you in my thoughts. Good luck!"
It is obvious why I love this guy, right?
Anyway, I bolstered myself with a piping hot soy maple pecan latte. Venti. Went home and called Dr. P's nurse. Left a message. It usually takes all day to get a return call. Today, she returned my call within an hour. I don't really like her, but I liked her promptness. Two points for Slytherin.
Nurse: Hi, Mrs. Blank, I talked to Dr. P about your sityerashin. (situation...she is not great with words...) She says that she scheduled the labs right before your thyroid ablation because she knows it is a necessary procedure and if the CA 15-3 comes back still high, we will need a cat scan. We can't get one before your ablation because you can't have one within two months of your procedure.
Shit. Shit. I have a nodule on my thyroid that was biopsied in the summer and came back benign. The problem was that said nodule is growing against my windpipe and will eventually smother me. So, yeah. It is a needed procedure.
I now have a call into my third doctor, Dr. U, to see how long I have to wait after my ablation to get a cat scan.
I believe this is called a mother fucking, god damned snafu.
So, now. Waiting for a return call from Dr. U, who is doing her job and researching my sityerashin.
Should I sit on that hard place or that rock?
Scotty, beam me up. I am really sick of this one-thing-after-another shit and I think that if Obama were president maybe I could deal with my messy life a lot better. Knowing that Trump is in the driver's seat makes me feel like I am having a toddler drive me to the emergency room.
Actually, make that a reservation for two. I don't want to go anywhere without T. I also promise to never chicken out and walk away when she is crying again.
Because I'm a badass and that's how we roll......
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