Old Memories resurface

Mirror view

It's already the 6th day of the New Year and I haven't found a free second to blog until now. One of my resolutions for the year is to spend more time blogging. It's not only cathartic for me, I believe it is beneficial to others (or at least that's what I've been told by some of my online readers...) so we shall see if I manage to keep that resolution. 

This morning I had an appointment with the endocrinologist. My thyroid level has been extremely low and the primary care physician has tried his best to manage it but has been unable to keep me in normal range. I don't fault him, really. It must be hard to medicate a person without a thyroid gland and keep the hormone level just so, that's why I decided it would be best for me to remain under the endocrinologist's care. 

I'd made the appointment through the online app and was able to get the first appointment of the day. I like those early appointments because the doctor is usually energetic and cheerful. 

Arriving at the hospital just before 8:00 a.m., I lucked up and found a parking spot close to the front door. The wind was whipping as I exited the car and I realized a cold front was moving in. I was thankful I'd worn my down coat and a pashmina shawl. Tucking a book under my arm, I donned the mandatory mask and headed for the door. As I walked, I looked around. The hospital reminded me of a large ant hill and the people looked like little ants busily going to and fro, in and out, always on the move.

The office staff was efficient and moved me into a room quickly. The doctor came in and went over my records then received an emergency phone call and begged forgiveness as she stepped out of the room. I waited a few minutes and then she knocked and re-entered. We continued our conversation and once again, she received an emergency call and needed to leave the room. When she returned, she apologized profusely explaining she had a patient in the ER, and she was coordinating care with the physician on call. I told her it was okay, and I understood completely. I felt sorry for her. She was obviously stressed but managed to give me her undivided attention once her phone stopped vibrating. She ordered labs and said she'd see me in 2 weeks. We said our goodbyes and I walked down the hall for the labwork. 

The phlebotomist was nice and took her time locating a vein. I explained why I had to have blood drawn from my hand and that was the segue that led to our conversation about breast cancer. She shared that her mother had suffered from breast cancer and also developed lymphedema. Then she told me she was concerned about one of her breasts. As she shared her symptoms, I encouraged her to get a mammogram as soon as possible. I explained a lot of women think the only symptom of impending breast cancer is finding a lump and that's not necessarily the case. Many women experience puckering or dimpling of the breast, itching or scaling, and various other symptoms like tenderness, hotness, or redness. 

Leaving the office, I called the number the doctor had given me to set up a bone density test. I wasn't expecting to receive a same day appointment but as luck would have it, that's exactly what happened. I got an 11:30 a.m. appointment so I shot across the street to grab some Chick-Fil-A and returned to the parking lot at the hospital to eat it. (I'd skipped breakfast because I knew the doc would probably want to do a fasting blood panel and I was right.) While I wolfed down my chicken minis, I got a call from my youngest daughter. We talked for the next 30 minutes and then it was time for me to go inside. 

Walking up and down the hall, I finally found the office. On the wall outside the suite, it said Diagnostics - Breast Cancer Center. I wondered why I was having a bone density test at a breast cancer center. I assumed I'd have it at the imaging department of the hospital. 

I checked in and sat to wait. About twenty minutes later, a nurse called my name. I followed her back to the dressing room and watched as she pulled a pink robe from underneath a cabinet and a green plastic drawstring bag from the drawer beside it. She handed them to me and told me to choose a dressing room, remove everything from the top half of my body, and come out when ready. 

Inside the dressing room, I held the pink robe. All of a sudden, feelings I hadn't felt in years came flooding back in. I remembered the first time I'd had to don one of "those open in the front robes." It had been at the breast surgeon's office while there for my initial consultation. I was so scared that day and so embarrassed. I didn't want to bare my chest in front of anyone but knew I must. 

When I'd removed my clothing and put on the robe, I walked out into the central waiting area. There were half a dozen other women clad in the same type robe. All of them were talking about their breast cancer as if it were a social club meeting. I chose a chair in the corner and listened. Beneath their masks, I could head their voices but was unable to see their facial expressions. One woman shared she was in the midst of chemo, another recently had a mastectomy, and the others were there for diagnostic mammograms. I never said a word. I wanted to tell them I was a survivor of almost 8-years but didn't. I didn't want to lump myself into their category for some reason. I guess it was too scary to think about being back in the routine of breast cancer care again. I'd left those thoughts behind years ago when I'd received the news of my 5-year cancerversary. Passing that mark, I assumed I was home free and now, at almost 8 years post cancer, I still felt the same way. I didn't want to do anything to jinx it. 

The DEXA scan went quickly, and the radiology tech was kind. She said I'd receive the results in about 2 days. Thanking her I went back to the dressing room, changed, and almost ran out of the office as the tears began to flow. I hadn't realized how emotional I'd be. 

I guess the fear of recurrence will always be with me. Though I hadn't thought of breast cancer much since my last annual exam, that little pink robe screamed loud and clear - "You could get bad results and go through this all over again, you know." But as soon as the thought cross my mind, I whispered back, "Maybe, but not unless God allows it." 

I trust that He's got my back, my front, my sides, and the rest of me and I will continue to claim myself to be cancer free. And if He ever deems it necessary for me to go through the trial of breast cancer again, I'll face that day in His power and grace but in the meantime, I'm going to remind myself that's a great big "IF." I pray it will never be a reality in this lifetime. I've done my time. I've paid my dues and that should count for something but I'm also not naive. Many women have recurrences of cancer, but I don't want to be counted among them and I'm going to do whatever I can to stay healthy and strong, today and in the future. 

 

All that stress for nothing

If you've ever had to wait for the results of a medical test, you know how nerve wracking it can be. You sit by the phone waiting for it to ring so you can pounce on it and pray your ears work well enough to hear clearly what the doctor is saying. You feel like you can't even run to the restroom for fear of missing that important call, especially when the doctor is going to call on your house phone and your house phone is hard wired instead of portable (yeah, I'm one of those rare folks who still have a land line, don't judge me)...

All Thursday evening, I bit my fingernails and prayed. My husband I talked out every possible scenario and hashed out how we would handle each one. If the ultrasound showed cancer, I had to decide if I was willing to go through chemo or not. The first time with cancer it was easy to refuse chemo, the second time around would probably be much harder. We hoped I wouldn't have to go there. I didn't sleep a wink that night. I tossed and turned all night long, wondering and worrying. I knew I wasn't supposed to worry. In fact, I have a huge Hobby Lobby stencil right above the dresser in my bedroom that says, "Don't worry about anything, pray about everything." I look at it every single night before I go to bed. I put it there purposely to remind myself not to worry but sometimes, I worry anyway. I'm human and worrying comes easily to most of us.

Friday morning, after a fitful night, I got out of bed early, got my shower and got dressed. I knew the phone was going to ring soon and I wanted to be ready. The office opened at 9:00 a.m. so I knew I had a couple of hours before the doctor would call. I grabbed a quick breakfast and went into my office to sit by the phone. While I waited, I surfed the internet, wrote a few letters, and edited some photos. Hours passed and no phone call. The medical office takes a 2 hour lunch break from 12 to 2 each day so I figured I wouldn't get a call during that time. I ran into the kitchen and whipped up a sandwich. I brought my lunch back to my desk and ate while I continued to wait. At 2:45 p.m. I was getting a little tired of waiting so I called the doctor's office and explained my situation. Immediately I was put on hold and at 3:00 p.m. the Endocrinologist came on the line. She apologized profusely and then got down to business.

I listened intently as she explained my T3 hormone level was very low. She asked if I'd ever been put on medication for that. I told her I hadn't but I had been taking Synthroid since I was 15. She also mentioned some other blood levels that were low and when I sighed heavily, I guess she figured she'd better tell me my ultrasound results. I was pleasantly surprised when she said, "WE FOUND ABSOLUTELY NOTHING THERE." But in the next minute, I wanted to reach through phone, grab her around her scrawny little neck and choke the life out of her! Why in heaven's name did she word the phone message she'd left on my voicemail in such a way that it scared the Beejezus out of me??? I told her I was expecting something really bad because of the message she'd left. She asked me what she'd said because she couldn't remember and I told her she'd said she was only calling because of the extenuating circumstances surrounding my case and blah, blah, blah... She laughed and said, "Oh, well, I meant because of all the terrible errors that have been made regarding your care on your last 3 visits." Oh brother! She could have explained it a little better then. (The Endocrinologist that called was new in the practice. She'd been called in to take the place of another doctor who'd left the practice abruptly because of the poor management and the horrible treatment to the patients. In the absence of the first doctor, my case had fallen through the cracks and one unfortunate event after another had taken place.)

Dr. J explained I'd need to be seen again in 4 months and they'd want to test me for Cushing's disease. I kindly explained I wasn't ever going to be returning to their office, but thank you very much. I'd already decided to return to my excellent Emory Endocrinologist even if it meant driving over an hour to get to her office. I knew the kind of attentive care Dr. D had given me in the past before I'd moved away from the Atlanta area and I knew she was 1000 times better than any of the doctors at the Endocrinology Center close to my current home.

Dr. J was sympathetic and told me she completely understood. She said she would do the same thing if the shoe was on the other foot. That made me feel better and I explained I had nothing against her but the practice where she worked was a joke. I told her I'd worked for doctors for years and I'd never seen any office treat patients the way they treated theirs and it was inexcusable.

When I told my husband the good news, we both cried. I'd finally had time to process the fact that this was in fact, the best news I could have received...NO CANCER! If only I could regain all that wasted time and energy I'd spent worrying and waiting, but what's done is done.

I have a propensity toward worrying when I'm in my flesh but I know it's not the right thing to do. When I try to shoulder cares or concerns, I'm in essence telling God I don't trust Him to handle them for me and I have learned full well that HE IS VERY CAPABLE and HE IS THE ONLY ONE who can truly handle them.

Hopefully I won't have any more cancer scares any time soon. They are no fun! I'm so glad that phone call is out of the way. Now I can get back to living again.

A little PTSD

A phone call. That's all it took to shake me to my core. I didn't even get to talk to a real person but the message on the other end of the phone speared me through and through - "This is --- from --- I need to talk to you about your test results. Can you please call me as soon as possible?" I wasn't expected that call and I certainly wasn't expecting it to affect me the way it did. I had an honest to goodness meltdown and I didn't realize it until I was in the middle of it.

We had been in the middle of eating dinner. I'd gone to my office to retrieve a book and saw the red light blinking on my desk phone indicating I had a message waiting. I picked up the receiver because I knew it would only take a second to hear the message and curiosity got the better of me. I wish I hadn't seen the red light.

I walked back into the dining room and told my husband I'd received a call from the endocrinologist's office. They wanted me to call them back about my recent ultrasound. As soon as I said the word ultrasound, I began sobbing uncontrollably. My bewildered husband took me into his arms and held me tight. I bawled like a baby, deep guttural sobs. When I came up for air, I looked into my husband's eyes. He hadn't said a word. I told him I didn't think I could survive another bout with cancer. At that point, he understood my deep seated pain. He hadn't thought of that. He sat down and held his head in his hands and began to weep. We cried until we couldn't cry any more and we didn't even know what we were crying about. We hadn't received any real news yet, only a message to call back as soon as possible. Why did we immediately fear the worst first?

As I thought about it, the only logical answer was cancer post traumatic stress disorder. Just like soldiers who'd been in the midst of battle were traumatized, so were we. Cancer does that. Cancer is hard...no, it's not hard, it's extremely difficult, more difficult than you can imagine. It takes a lot of resolve to fight cancer. It's indescribable.

It took a while for both of us to calm down and get our minds off of the phone call. He was distracted with TV and I decided to down a pint of Ben and Jerry's Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream. Neither of us were really coping, but we did the best we could in the moment.

Tomorrow morning, I'll be sitting by the phone to see if it rings. If it hasn't by mid morning, I'm going to place a call to the endocrinologist's office. I am afraid of what I'll hear but I'm hoping for good news. Maybe I'm just shell shocked. Maybe I'll get good news.

I don't like PTSD. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. It's like a slowly exploding grenade blossoming into oblivion growing stronger and more dangerous minute by minute. I don't know how to manage it right now and maybe I never will but I know if I keep on using ice cream as my coping mechanism, I'm going to weigh 300 pounds and then things are going to really get hairy.

The easiest way to lose weight

Today I had to go to the doctor. I hate going to the doctor...well, I don't really hate going to the doctor, I hate going to see the doctor and having to get on the scale. I hate that they have the scale right out in the open in a hallway where anyone who passes by can see what you weigh. For me, that's scary. I want to keep my weight private. Shouldn't there be a HIPAA law or something to protect me from having my weight scrutinized by prying eyes? Surely there should be. Anyway, as much as I hated going to see the doctor today, I went. This was a follow up visit for an esophageoendoscopy I'd had done recently. I already had the results so I didn't really understand why it was necessary for me to go in for an office visit, but I'm compliant, so off I went.

I arrived at the gastroenterologist's office about fifteen minutes early. I'm always early. I like to have a few minutes to just sit in the waiting room and chill out before my appointment. For some reason, I get white coat syndrome...you know, where you're heart rate speeds up and you feel panic and you want to run?! Well, I sat in the waiting room listening to the receptionist giving out social security numbers and other private information over the phone to an insurance company. I was checking Facebook on my Iphone so I was half listening and half not. If I'd wanted to steal someone's identity, I could have done it easily. I wanted to chide the receptionist for being so careless about sharing very valuable personal information within earshot of those in the waiting room, but I did not. I used to work for a doctor's office. I knew it was not standard procedure for something like this to be done. That receptionist was going to find out from some irate patient, at some point in her career, that she wasn't being very professional and rightly so. A few minutes passed and I was being called back.

A heavy set nurse took me right to the scale. I don't usually mind getting up on the scale if the nurse is larger than I am so I stepped right up. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no office staff were peering at the number on the scale. Thankfully, no one was in the hallway but the nurse and I. She didn't even tell me what I weighed and I hadn't been able to see it. (Earlier today, I'd taken my glasses off and put my sunglasses on as I was driving. The sun was so bright I could barely see without them. I have artificial lenses in both eyes and they're for distance so I only have to wear my glasses for seeing things up close.) I wished I'd had them on. I wondered what the scale had said. The nurse took me back to the exam room and began asking the normal questions. I gave her all the answers and she said the doctor would be in shortly.

I didn't have to wait but a couple of minutes before the doctor came in with his scribe. The scribe sat down at the computer and as the doctor asked questions, she typed away. Dr. R asked me if I was still having issues with not being hungry. I told him yes. He said, "Don't you ever have an appetite?" I answered, "No. I really don't. I just eat when it's meal time because I know I'm supposed to eat then." He looked at my chart and said, "Well, the last time I saw you for an office visit was about 4 months ago. You weigh the same today as you did then." Hmmm...I wondered if that was accurate. I knew what my home scale said this morning before getting dressed. I asked him what the scale showed today and he told me. "HA!," I almost shouted. He looked at me stunned. I said, "I know why there's no weight loss showing." As I finished my last word in that sentence, I reached inside my shirt and whipped off my bra with my prostheses still in it. I held it up with sheer delight and waved it slightly back and forth. "Here's the five pound loss that should have appeared on your office scale today. I forgot to take them off before coming in to see you." The doctor turned a bright shade of red and his scribe had a look of shock on her face. I sat there and laughed because I thought it was so funny. The doctor took a few minutes before he commented and then said, "Well, Mrs. Annis, I guess you can lose weight whenever you choose, can't you?" I smiled and wanted to tell him, "Damn, Skippy!," but I didn't. I just shook my head and grinned.

I'm finding myself getting a little more brazen in my old age and it's kind of scary. It's also kind of fun. I'm liking the element of surprise and how I can use my fake boobs to make medical professionals think about breast cancer when they least expect it. Maybe the next time a patient steps up to the scale, the nurse should ask, like they do in the customs offices, if the patient has anything to declare. It would be funny to see how many prostheses come off before the weigh in. Can you just imagine a pile of limbs or breasts stacked in the corner while patients are being weighed? I bet that would prompt them to move their scale into a small room instead of keeping it out in the open in a hallway. There needs to be some standard of privacy and respect for folks with artificial pieces and parts. HIPAA needs to get on board and revise their policies but I bet no one's ever considered something as silly as this, except maybe me...of course.

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