Today’s reply to a close friend in the Midwest who keeps tabs on me, every day:
So as not to worry you unnecessarily, I’ve been quiet, lately, for sound reason. As you may remember, I had a PET scan and chest CT, approximately two weeks ago. Much to our surprised dismay, results of both studies showed a new mass in my right lung.
A week ago Friday, a biopsy via bronchoscope was performed. I did not receive results of that study until Wednesday of this week, based in the fact that the findings were under lengthy consideration. Why? Well, the weekend factored in, but more importantly, the findings proved—inconclusive, capping off a two week period of time so disconcerting as to see me in need of cocooning.
Before those baffling results had been retrieved via my medical portal (rather than a phone call), I received a phone call from the scheduling office at Mayo informing me that I needed a Covid test asap before signing in at the reception desk for my biopsy via bronchoscope, scheduled for the very next day at 11am, prompting me to reply, “There must be a glitch in your system, because I had that procedure, last Friday.” Next thing I knew, my mind dizzied up when the scheduler said, “A repeat of last Friday’s procedure has been ordered.” “A repeat? We’ve not yet received results of Friday’s procedure!” Then, Will takes the phone, introduces himself as Dr. Shapiro and instructs the scheduler to have the doctor who ordered the repeat study to call us.
We wait for a while. Our home phone rings once. We answer. No one is there. No caller ID
The phone rings, again. Once. Silence follows, taunting our nerves.
The third single ring burns into my ear.
Now, feeling utterly confounded, I consciously collect my intelligence before my brain’s basic instincts do what they’re programmed to do once anxiety spikes, which is to flood my brain with adrenaline, thus shattering my hold onto logic as if torrents of repressed anger, suddenly released, grab a dagger that stabs at my self control, repeatedly, severing my processor from clarity, liberating the limbic portion of my brain to scream its fury aloud concerning chest pain, which had been dismissed by every doctor whom I’d sought out for more than a year during which one misdiagnosis followed another while the tumor, as yet unidentified, continued to grow in plain sight. And don’t even get me started about the harsh effects of chemo and the severity of pain endured after back-to-back surgeries, last summer ...
As airing the depths of my fury over human imperfection changes nothing for the better, I choose to master a mental state of calm, which, as previously mentioned, requires cocooning on my part.
Having been cautioned to calm himself, as well, Will calls scheduling at Mayo and asks that the doctor is given his cell phone number being that something is amiss with our landline. And finally, we speak with a person in the know.
Last Thursday, Will and I returned home from Mayo after my repeat biopsy via bronchoscope followed by an upper GI scope, both of which were enhanced by making use of ultrasound. Unfortunately, preliminary results do not look promising.
Will just came into our bedroom to say that while glancing through my medical portal, he found an appointment scheduled with my thoracic surgeon at Mayo, this coming Monday, begging the question—is this normal medical procedure, today? Test results are recorded and appointments are scheduled, which may be missed if the portal is not consulted, daily? Is all contact with medical staff conducted via portal rather than phone? Though I write to my doctors, requesting a conversation, answers come via the portal from their PA’s. I don’t get it. Or more to the point, I don’t like it, at all. Yet another change, not necessarily for the better, proving beyond my control. For the most part, communicating with medical personal is no longer patient friendly.
As my heart and vessels appear cancer free, hopefully any reoccurrence of lung cancer can be resolved at Mayo. Though my surgeons were wonderful and personally responsive, thoughts of returning to Houston for surgery darken my state of mind, which has rarely felt light-hearted for quite a long time.
Earlier this week, Wednesday evening to be exact, Steven placed an order with Grubhub, timed to be delivered to our house in tandem with his arrival with Ravi in tow. As soon as we’d finished eating, Ravi and I were seen playing princesses, which offered my spirit a much needed lift, being that this was the second time (in less than a week) that our fully vaccinated son and six year old grand daughter had been inside our home in over a year. Quoting Ravi when asked how playing with Gramma inside our house made her feel: “I’m so excited, my head is exploding!”
David, who had not left his apartment for 10 days (testing negative for Covid, twice during that time period) drove home from the coast, yesterday, and, thankfully, he’s scheduled himself to receive his first Covid vaccination at our football stadium, today. And just as David remained on line until he’d scheduled my dear friend Edie’s first Covid injection, our youngest son scheduled his oldest brother, Barry’s first Covid injection for this past Tuesday, and thus does today’s post spotlight that all is not gloom and doom in our family for this reason: upon consciously considering each other’s many kindnesses, I have no doubt that we have more for which to feel thankful than not.
And as always, our love of life while we each offer one another’s spirits a lift (or a life raft when necessary) goes on ...
And on ...
Annie
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