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.

Chilly today and hot tamale

This weather is making me crazy! One day it feels like the middle of Spring and the next day, we're slap dab in the middle of Winter. I should be used to it now. I've lived in the South all my life but the older I get, the thinner my skin gets. I don't tolerate the cold well any more. Since having my thyroid gland removed in 2005, the cold has been almost unbearable.

For those who may not understand the thyroid gland's function in the body, it's like a thermostat on a heating unit. When it's functioning normally, your body stays at a relatively comfortable temperature. When it's in hyper mode (hyperthyroidism) you'll feel extremely warm when others are comfortable and when it's in hypo (hypothyroidism) mode, you'll feel colder than cold.

My husband has learned to accept the fact that I'll be wearing silk long johns most of the year and I'll be sleeping with an electric blanket on year round. (I was considerate enough to buy a dual control electric blanket though so he can turn his off while I'm cooking on the other side.)

Anyhoo...the reason I'm talking about this hot and cold thyroid stuff is to lead into my blog subject for the day. Yesterday, I had my annual visit to the endocrinologist. It's usually a routine formality in order to have my medication refilled but I wasn't expecting to hear the doc say she felt something abnormal. I should have picked up on the fact that something was wrong when she kept palpating my neck over and over. Naturally, the first thought that popped into my head was, "oh no, the cancer's back!," and who wouldn't think that way under the circumstances? But, I've got to suck it up and not go there. I can't afford to worry about "what if." I'll just wait until I get the results from the ultrasound and go from there. In the words of Gilda Radner, "It's always something." Always something.