Chaos Into My Order
I am not sure what is going to be in this post as I begin it. So many things are going on inside of me that it’s hard to know what to say first. My emotions feel like people in a crowded theater with only one exit in the back and somebody has yelled “FIRE!”. Each feeling desperate to get out yet held back by the ones that leapt up and got to the doors first and now there is a clog slowing progress, yet all are anxious to get out and be free and as far away from the building as possible.
Let’s talk about the “fire” first. You know, the source of all the running and panic and pushing of all the feelings inside me. As many know already I had my routine CT scan last week. Was that just last week? I’ve been doing quite well for the last three years so it really just registered as a tiny blip on my radar so I would remember to drink the nasty barium the night before. (At least they had banana flavored) As is tradition in my city a one week waiting period to find out test results began. I was on a short wait because of the holiday weekend but frankly I was so busy that time flew by and before I knew it it was Monday afternoon and I was sitting in the oncology waiting area with my daughter. It was packed, as is standard, and I was getting the usual looks of people wondering why I was there in all my glowing health. Meanwhile, we were taking in all the folks around us clearly in the throws of the fight. My husband was golfing with friends because this was a simple routine, “you look great, see you in six months” visit. My daughter came along simply because despite all my usual phone calls of inquiry to obtain the report early I did not receive even one call back and I was getting “results” today. For the last seven years, unless I had been told ahead of the appointment, I have never received results alone and we decided it was no time to start now. We had barely settled into our seats after I had squared up with the business office side (ya gotta pay your ‘cover charge’) when my pager buzzed. I commented to my daughter that we were going to be in and out of there in no time. After the usual weigh in, med review and vitals check we were left in my usual exam room, the one with the view of the trees and the street. I always figured it was the room they put the routine patients in.
In about 15 minutes there was the knock and the exam door slid open. In walked my doctor, obligatory plaid shirt and all. He is so pleasant and it is truly good to see him. He greets me and reintroduces himself to my daughter. He hasn’t seen her in a few years and they shake hands. He sits down at the computer, ”Odd.” I think to myself, and he immediately focuses his attention on the screen. His MO is usually telling me my scan looks great while leaning on the sill of the South window and talk about the weather and how I am feeling eventually having me hop up on the exam table for a head to toe peruse of my lymph nodes and to listen to my lungs. A tiny alarm bell went off inside me as I looked at him not looking at me. He asked me if I had been coughing. I told him no more than the usual and that the change in my inhaler had really helped with the wheezing. I then said what came to my mind. “What’s wrong? I totally don’t like the way your eyebrows are looking right now.” They were knit together in concentration. It would have been a scowl if the action had contaminated his eyes, but it was strictly located in the brow area, his eyes remaining soft and compassionate. He looked at me and raised them. He then explained that there was an area in my right lung that look questionable. It was 1.8 cm in size and it was in virgin territory. He then asked a series of questions about my cough, had I been sick, was I sure I hadn’t been sick, no fever, antibiotics? No. No. No. No. I answered. (Inside i was screaming no!) Any pain? Well, there was a spot on my back for the last month or so but I think it’s a rib head out of place, because that’s what it feels like. (Oh God!) He was debating out loud what next steps should be. Should I see the pulmonary doctor, maybe get a bronchoscopy and see if they can biopsy it or should we wait 8 weeks and re-CT just my chest and see if it grows? He thought perhaps it could be an infiltrate from a previous illness like pneumonia, except I hadn’t been sick at all in the last several months. No antibiotics or steroids needed. I asked if perhaps we should consult the doctors in Houston. He thought not just yet and was perhaps a bit offended by my suggestion, but then softened his stance and said since I knew my doctor at MDA on a personal level that I certainly could let her know what was happening. (Like I wasn’t going to do that anyway? He knows me.) The plan: See the pulmonologist ASAP, bronch if she thinks she can get to the spot, otherwise wait 8 weeks and repeat the chest CT.
Someone yelled “FIRE!”
My daughter agreed to call her dad then finally resorted to texting him as he was out on the golf course somewhere with a silenced phone and I head to the check out desk to review instructions, get a copy of my report and then, as with any “inconclusive” type findings, the rationalization began. Denial was the first one out of their seat. “It’s probably nothing”. People get these spots every day. “It’s probably nothing” was followed fast on the heels by “Things are fine” and then “Don’t be dramatic”. Once “no drama” got to the door all the other feelings were safely, or not so safely, blocked inside. With the panic going on internally unable to find it’s way out and invisible to those outside I could go about my business with no one aware of the chaos within. My daughter and I talked about her wedding all the way to her house where I dropped her off and headed back to work. Oddly enough as fate would have it I was going to a clinic run by my bestie Laurie. She is the best NP I know and has helped me navigate my cancer from the start. On the drive over I called my mother who agreed that “it’s probably nothing, things are fine and we don’t need any drama”. We then talk about the wedding the rest of the drive over to the clinic. I sign off with mom telling her I will call her later. My bestie is in her office and I hand her the report and give her the skinny on what had happened at my doctor appointment. She assured me things would be okay and that she would read it. I was having dinner with her later and we would talk about it then. I got in the car and headed West toward home knowing I had to tell people something. Social media was brimming in anticipation of my famous “I’m clean!” post. I needed to tell a few people first though. As I went through that list in my head I tiny bit of panic got out and I felt like I might cry. At a stoplight I looked at my reflection in the visor mirror in my car. “Cut it out!” I say out loud to the tear brimmed eyes looking at me. “Cut. It. Out.” I repeat and the tears abate. It takes me several hours to get my sons up to speed, actually have a conversation with my husband and a few others that I fell social media is probably not the best way for them to find out. By that time it is time to head out to the restaurant to meet my bestie and an old mutual friend of ours. I also had a photo shoot scheduled for right after dinner time. (Ironically for CURE Magazine) We never spoke at dinner about my little spot, but in the parking lot Laurie expressed her concern, said she would track down my pulmonologist in the morning and she thought I should e-mail my doc in Houston. It was then that “a little worry” slipped past “no drama” at the door and I felt that old familiar heaviness in my chest. “Ugh!” I think as emotions start to flow through door of the theater that is my life. “I hate this! My life is going just fine...Why?! This is such a pain in the ass! What is happening? Who has time for this?” all stumble out into the open. “Why me”, exposed and undeniable. I’m glad it’s out. I feel a little relief. I shake it off and get in the car to head over to the photo shoot. “All will be well.” I tell myself. “God is with me and that makes us a majority.” I remember back to when I first got sick and one of the first things I said to my husband was I wanted God’s light to shine through me. I cling to that memory and it calms me and I feel peace for the moment.
This will be a process, bringing feelings out into my crazy, but pretty much balanced existence. Most things in life present the challenge of creating order from some sort of chaos. For me right now it’s the other way around and I will have to deal with uncertainty no matter what that spot turns out to be and that means introducing unwelcome chaos into my order.
Sign in or sign up to post a comment.
Helen had this issue come up, she writes in a post August 2, 2016 called "An Un-Birthday Un-Present"
I hope you get some peace, soon!
Hugs, Jean
MGBY,
John
anyway...I have seen them...they can be formidable...the young ones are just plain scared. I am sure you know what soothes them...God's light, healing music, some serious cuddling ..........hard to keep them all focused on the present, they tend to take the uncertainty and run amok... they need chamomile tea... wish you healing light and calming breaths......some serious hugs that keep you grounded and present
Carol
Reading your post, oh, boy, it's a lot to take it. It's so hard to take it one step at a time when your mind automatically jumps to the unmentionable. You ARE a bright light of God's and your energy shines through to all of us. I love that you share your most vulnerable moments so eloquently. I am hoping your days get better and brighter with good news. Hang in there and keep grounded in your power. You are a very strong woman and I admire you.
Sending you kick ass vibes, good thoughts and virtual hugs!!