Health Scare: Update

First I want to thank you all for the kind words, emails, calls, messages and prayers, it meant more than you know.  Now for the wonderful news.  I am cancer free!  The results showed no malignancy. The two tumor/lesions were removed completely with clear margins, although these "lumps" were benign they were very suspicious and are sometimes considered precancerous.  It's great to have them out of my body.  I am so happy to have such wonderful news and such wonderful support from my friends and family.  Thank you again!

Health Scare

The day started as many do.  Coffee, emails and a quick shower.  Getting dressed, I see my reflection.  Something is off.  I press my fingers against my skin.  There, hard like a lemon seed, a strange ridge.  A lump.  I call my husband into the room for confirmation.  I’m not imagining it.  Later in the day I find myself in a waiting room full of people at the local clinic.  Waves of anxiety come over me as the thought of having to take my shirt off in front of a stranger continues to pop into my head.  It’s probably nothing, this is silly.  I should just head home.  I watch the clock.  Time slows.  The nurse signals me to follow her.  A deep breath.  A quick summary of my morning and basic medical history.  Okay here we go.  Cold hands.  In my own way of lightning the mood I joke about wishing I would have used more deodorant.  My humor wasn’t caught and I was reassured that doctors don’t mind these things and not to worry myself.  I try to read her face.  A focused glare as she scribbles something onto a clipboard.  Referral for a ultrasound.  $20.00 FJ for the visit.  A white paper under my windshield wiper flutters in the wind.  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Downtown I find the recommended clinic.  Park.  Open the ashtray for coins.  The meter now with 1:40 minutes to kill.  The woman at the front desk directs me to the ultrasound area.  No waiting.  The lobby filled with coughing, sleepless faces.  I follow someone to the radiology area.  Another wave of anxiety washes over me.  I can do this.  The man next to me, arm in a sling and heavily bandaged asked “Are you sick?”  “I guess we’ll see.” I reply.  We chat, work accident, bone went right through the skin.  My turn.  A squish of gel.  The ultrasound screen the only light in the room.  They turn the screen towards me.  “You see, this looks irregular.”  “I guess it’s a good thing I came in.”  I say half joking.  “Yes, it’s a really good thing.”  All humor gone.  This was starting to feel real.  I collect my report and walk out to the car.  I call my husband.  I pull away from the curb.  There in the window, a familiar white paper smacking against the hood.  Not again.  I even had time left on the meter.  It almost seemed funny.  Back to the original doctor.  Waiting.  She looks at the report.  Silence.  I was starting to feel a little uneasy.  Say something.  “They said it’s irregular, do you think it might be, cancer?” I blurted out.  Her face snaps towards me.  “Don’t say such things, you must not put these things into your head.  Right now you need to be strong!”  As the last word was spoken, the opposite seemed to happen as all my strength was suddenly gone.  Be strong, for what I wonder?  My eyes start to well up.  I quickly control my emotions.  What next?  She recommends a biopsy with a surgeon in Suva, a four hour drive from here.  I take everything in, then return home.  Numb.  I recount the days events.  Then lay on the bed, open my computer.  Google search: Breast Cancer.  My husband on the phone in the other room.  He wants to drive tonight, he made an appointment for the following morning.  Emotionally exhausted I protest at first, then give in.  Pack the car, load the kids.  Road trip.  The hours passed quickly as we discussed “what if” scenarios.  It’s probably nothing this is silly.  This sure is a beautiful country.  Those lush mountains, the road follows the Coral Coast. Even a sunset.  We check in to the hotel.  Great food after a long day.  9:00 a.m. the doctor will see you.  Another exam.  Now off for a mammogram and then a biopsy.  I hand the referral to the front desk.  “What day would you like to schedule this for ma’am?”  Right now. “You can’t do this the same day, I’m so sorry.”  I plead and explain our long drive.  “My husband took time off work, please.”  Progress, I get a shot at convincing the head radiologist.  He agrees to do another ultrasound and if he feels it warrants a mammogram then I will receive one.  A squish of gel, déjà vu.  He mumbles a few things to be noted, I missed it.  He says a few reassuring words then says a few confusing and equally troubling things and then recommends a ultrasound guided biopsy.  More waiting.  Balance paid.  The fleeting pain of the needle to numb me and then the biopsy.  Again the screen turned towards me.  I watch as he thrusts the needle again and again into the dark mass on the screen, on me.  Now I wait.  I decide to keep this to myself.  Ten to fourteen days.  I call my parents.  Everyday, the same, but different.  My life on hold, waiting for a call.  The results.  No malignant cells that they can see in the sample, but there is something that is still suspicious and the pathologist recommends a more extensive biopsy.  Another trip to Suva, I fly alone.  A quick consult.  Off to the operating room.  I change into my gown.  Is this real?  I felt the need to psych myself up.  I can do this.  I had a baby in India, okay this is nothing. I can do this.  I lay down on the table.  Arm out perpendicular, strapped down.  I’m awake.  “Okay you are going to feel a few pricks.”  Needle after needle of local anesthesia.  Then a cut, the smoke from my fresh being cauterized.  That smell. “I can feel that!”  “Pain or pressure?”  “Pain!”  “More local, more local.” Another needle.  My adrenalin pumping.  I felt it nearly impossible to relax.  The constant thought of that pain replaying in my mind.  A deep breath.  Another deep breath.  Almost an hour and the surgery in complete.  Stitches.  Pressure and a tug, pressure and a tug.  Then the piercing pain of the needle and the stitching dragging through my flesh, again, again.  Wincing. One section about the size of a quarter still wasn’t numb.  I stay quiet.  It’s over.  A deep breath.  Final bandages.  I ask to see it.  I touch the lump of flesh.  I change in the bathroom.  A long stare at my new reflection.  The recovery room.  Waiting for paperwork and pills.  After I am released I walk the unfamiliar streets in a haze.  I call my husband.  Stomach rumbling, I find food.  A few hours had passed and the pain was surfacing.  I take the antibiotic and pain medication I was given earlier.  I start to relax.  I walk the shops to pass time.  “Ma’am are you okay?”  Not may I help you.  “I’m fine thank you.”  A realization, am I acting strangely?  Maybe I should have had more food before taking these pills.  I decided to find a place I could just sit down for a while.  The only place was a nail salon.  I sit down.  Suddenly, a felt very strange, my relaxation had taken a turn for the worst.  “Where’s your bathroom?”  I rush off.  Door locked.  Pale and sweating.  Dizzy.  I lean over the toilet.  Nothing.  I lay on the cold tiles.  I can’t stand.  Thoughts of getting on an airplane in the next few hours seemed impossible.  Getting off the floor seemed impossible.  Time passes.  I reemerge to strange looks and impatient glares.  “I’m so sorry, I was at the hospital and this medicine has made me quite ill.”  “You have diarrhea?”  She says with panic.  “No, no, I just feel nauseated, it’s from the medicine.”  English wasn’t her first language.  “I get you Chinese tea.”  I agree.  They let me sit long after I am finished.  I am feeling well enough.  I need fresh air.  As time passed I continued to improve and before I knew it I was boarding the plane and heading home.  Puffy clouds, and bright sunshine.  Fiji is even more breathtaking by air.  Pure wonder.  It’s been about a week since my surgery.  The mass was sent to Australia for pathology review.  Each day, I try to distract myself.  I’ve already called the hospital twice.  So now I wait.  What a whirlwind it’s been.  Today I peeled back the bandage.  A bright pink line, about two inches.  Not too bad.  This may be the end of this story or just the beginning.  Please keep me in your thoughts and I will keep you all posted.