Alien Spores Located Where Uterus Used to Be
Today was Dr. day. I nearly overslept. I have had brutal pain in the bones of my upper thighs for the last three days. Last night I gave in and took some percocet. More than usual. Then I fell into the sleep only a poppy can bring. And didn’t wake up until 20 minutes before I had to leave to get to the dr. Long story short, I made it.
Appointment number one went well. Okay, so I waited nearly an hour to see the Dr. but my blood pressure was super normal. 124/86. So my blood pressure problem? Going to the Dr. in the afternoon instead of the morning. We spent most of the appointment talking about me being fat. Seems to be the center of most dr. visits with my PCP. If only I could apply the great life coaching I do for everyone else to my own existence. I would be in such a better place. But alas, the only knowledge I use for my benefit is my vast knowledge of random facts. Like string theory. Or Einstein’s special theory of relativity. Or that reindeer blood has an antifreeze-like quality. Or how to make the world best grilled cheese sandwich. Important things, of course, but without much pertinence to my day-to-day existence. Unless I am approached by a random mobile Jeopardy competition. Then I will kick ass.
Back to the dr. thing. Since I won the battle of blood pressure meds by proving that I don’t really have high blood pressure, I don’t have to go back for 3 months. Win. Of course, by the time I was released from appointment number one, it was already time for number two. I scampered away to my car and off to that building. Of course, I arrived right on time and then waited for another hour to be seen. Now, normally, waiting at Dr. K’s office isn’t bad, being that they have free wifi and all, but you know, technology is the devil. Two elderly ladies next to me had laid their hands on a kindle and were loudly strategizing over their next level of Candy Crush. Now, I know a lot of Candy Crush addicts, both those who are open about their use, and those who crush candy in the shadows. These ladies were very deep into their addiction, whining loudly over colors that weren’t working in their favor, as well as whining about how they had to see the Dr. My Dr., Dr. K. And I silently prayed to the universe to please please please let me be called first, because if they get in first, it’s going to be 4pm before I see a Dr.
I hear my name. I run. Okay, well I walk to the nurse and off to get weighed and shit again. Still fat. I do like Dr. K’s schedule better, but I’m still fat. Blood pressure is higher. I blame the Candy Crush Crones. But it’s still normal. I ask how big Dr. K’s posse is today. Only one med student. That’s cool. I wait.
This is were things start to go bad. In comes my treatment coordinator, Anne. I love her. She makes me laugh and she’s had cancer, so she gets it. She missed my last appointment since she was in Europe on vacation but she’s here now. She sits down to chat, not unusual, but doesn’t seem to be her uber-happy self. We chat around the fact that I am her. She says she’ll find out what’s up with Dr. K, and be back. She comes back and announces I have to submit to probing this visit. I don’t know why I think that I am going to escape it – but I cling to the hope every time I have a check up. I prepare for the invasion, and Dr. K appears. Hugs all around and then legs up in the air. There’s a poster about commitment on the ceiling. Really? Commitment? I think I’m pretty committed if I keep coming back for this kind of fun.
We usually have a chat about my tattoos, the weather, what’s going on, etc, but this time it’s all business. CAT scan shows what he thinks is a cystic mass. Or a mass that is probably filled with fluid. At least that’s what it looks like from the scan. He thinks he can feel it like – like puffer fish full of fluid, at least that is what he thinks. He’s not really rocking the whole “this is a piece of cake” attitude about this; he says we will get someone in there with a needle and see if we can drain this thing. If that doesn’t work, well, he’s got some other ideas about what to do to it. So Anne will get me set up with the needle people, and then he’ll see me after. Quick hug and he’s off. Noticeably absent is the confident “you’re doing great” that usually ends my visits. Anne hangs back, and tells me to hang in there, if they can drain it, the fluid with be sent to the lab to see what’s going on, and if they can’t they’ll just send tissue. Whatever it is, I just have to be patient and think positive.
Think positive. Ha. If only it was that easy. It’s not like I won’t try. But when you know there’s a baseball size glob of tissue or puffer fish full of fluid in the spot where your uterus once was, it’s kind of hard to think rainbows and unicorns. I am not going to sink into depression while I wait this out, but I’d be a liar if the horror of having to do radiation and chemo again didn’t loom heavily in my mind. But I’ll try. At least I got a new prescription for percocet. Maybe, just maybe, I can get some blood this time if I have surgery. One can hope. See, there it is…positivity. Finding the good in being cut open and gutted for a second time.
You might imagine that that was the end of my trials today. It wasn’t. I then went to the market because of my unnatural craving for Irish soda bread. None to be found. I grabbed what I believe to be a white wedding cake and a peanut butter egg which turned out to be a red velvet cake egg and a caramel egg when I bit into them. Then Andy ate half of my steak quesadilla from taco bell. Still, despite these disappointments, I fight on.
Well my lovelies, laundry beckons, as does sleep. I have to return to the labor force tomorrow. Pleasant dreams my friends.
This entry was posted on 24 February 14 by dpecky. It was filed under Profound Insights, Random Rambling, Uncategorized and was tagged with cancer, cyst, death, doctor visit, flying monkeys, hope, laughter, object, pain, positive, zero to hero, zerotoheroblog.