Cancer Chronicles: The First

She finds the mass on the first visit. I like this new doctor. She is young and spends over an hour with me on the first visit. My former doctor started treating the fat, not me. One ailment relieved by another doctor made me wonder what might be missed. She finds this mass in a simple exam never performed by the previous doctor. I lay on the table and she presses my abdomen. Pain. Immediately wheels are in motion.

Exactly one month to the day, surgery is scheduled. In that short time I’m examined in every imaginable way. Some I never imagined and I’m impressed by the technology involved. No cancer markers show in my blood work and enough blood is drawn to ensure complete coverage. The doctors are perplexed; they expect marker with a mass this size. All three, the primary, the gynecologist and the oncologist are equally fervent in their concern for my welfare and curious of what’s to be found.

48 hours before surgery I drive to the Center for Advanced Medicine for the pre-surgery registration. Part of this process is an exam by who I hope is a nurse or a practitioner. She presses with zeal on my abdomen as if to confirm what the doctors, a great number of them, the technicians reading test results and what feels to be an army of medical personnel tell me is the problem. Her glasses are green and red rimmed.

I wake the day before surgery feeling not so myself. I call in sick to work. As the morning progresses I feel pain in the area of the mass. By late morning I cannot walk; I can barely breathe. I stomp the floor to get my son upstairs and tell him to call an ambulance. I can’t stand. My second call goes to my medical advocate, my very good friend Donna. I say I’m on my way to Barnes; to please meet us there.

Emergency people appear at my door. My house is so small there is no way to get the gurney into the house. Policemen help the EMTs get me to the door. I’m in agony, but finally the Lamaze breathing pays off. I’m able to take off the edge of the pain. They roll me down the hill into the back of the ambulance; my son rides up front. Lying down feels somewhat better, but the pain is still intense. The EMT riding with me is new. I’m not his first, but he’s not in the high numbers yet. He needs to run a line with some pain deadening medication, but is having difficulty. In the end, he must use a needle that remains in my arm throughout the ride in order to inject the medication. Ambulances do not have magical shock absorbers nor do they have magical straight paths to emergency rooms. I prefer an IV, but we manage a few jokes to keep him at ease.

Donna arrives before us. My daughter is contacted and is on her way. I’m in a triage room and yet another person with few vein finding skills inserts an IV in the back of my hand. This new pain gives me a break from thinking of the other pain. I shortly feel better and exams show the mass has burst. There is talk of emergency surgery.

At long last the decision is to place me in a room and keep the surgery schedule as established. I’m in a room by myself and settle in while Donna and my kids keep me at ease. They leave and I watch my own personal TV hanging by my bed. I read a little, have dinner, and then drift to sleep. I sleep soundly and remember no dreams.