The morning of my surgical consult I felt like it was the end of the world. I had barely slept the night before, and what sleep I had was dotted with dreams of my world ending. My anxiety was in high gear and I was up and ready a full hour and a half before we needed to leave. We needed to fill our truck up with gas so I pushed my husband out the door as soon as I could and we got to Kaiser 40 minutes early! My husband ribbed me a bit yet we headed in. Remember everyone, hit the restroom BEFORE going into the office. You never know how long an appointment will be.
Unfortunately being there early did not help my anxiety or feelings of doom at all. What made it the absolute worst was that this Kaiser is very old and had armed limited width chairs in the waiting room. I had forgotten my ‘Magic Stool’ in the truck and did not want to walk back. Luckily by the bathrooms in the entry were a few plastic armless chairs. See, I am a fluffy person, have been my whole life. It is absolutely maddening that waiting areas do not have chairs of various sizes and some with no arms! Yet that is another blog.
So I sat there with Charlie playing on his phone. I sat holding the health history I had printed out for the doctor. Waiting. As I waited I occasionally looked at what I had printed out. As a Speech-Language Pathologist I feel that in order to create a treatment plan one must know the whole story behind every student. We treat the whole not just pieces. The same should be true of all doctors yet not all care. Yet I bring it anyway for the endless lines of text in the Kaiser files do not adequately describe my complicated history. Would he even look at it?
“Sandra Aranda?” When we heard my name I called out “Here!” as we were in the entry around the corner. The nurse gave us a genuine smile and welcomed us. Even better, she did NOT want to weigh me or take my blood pressure! She took us to a small room with a recliner chair for me attached to equipment and a regular chair for Charlie. My chair was actually quite roomy and comfy. I ribbed Charlie a bit that I had the better chair. We laugh everyday. But then…
BAM… the world broke even more and I started to have an anxiety attack. I did not want to be crying when the doctor came in. Charlie counted for me and supported me through it and I was as ok as I could be when the doctor came in.
The door opened and a smiling man came in with a genuine welcome. He stated right off he had read all of my history yet he also said he loved the one I printed as I put all the info together and had photos, haha! It was like the sun was trying to peek through the clouds of doom. The appointment went as well as could be expected and we found out:
*BAD NEWS – I can’t avoid surgery. We need to take the cancer out. I have to have a CT scan with contrast of my neck and chest to see if it has spread.
*GOOD NEWS – Based on where it is known right now the risk of damage to my voice or swallowing is reduced.
*BETTER NEWS – While my weight is a risk factor the surgeon stated he could definitely get the cancer out.
Then the surgeon said “So after the CT scan we can do the surgery over the phone.” So I said as I laughed “REALLY? Over the phone? That is so cool! What kind of machines do you use for that?” He looked at me for a second or two as he processed what had transpired and then he started laughing! A loud ongoing laugh! Pretty soon we were all laughing. He then clarified he meant we could “talk over the results and discuss the surgery on the phone after the CT scan”, haha!
So, was it what I wanted to hear? Not all of it. Am I still scared out of my mind? YES! Is there a tiny ray of hope now? Coming in like the sun after a storm? YES, YES!!
Remember always, one can not live in despair alone with cancer. One must always strive to find rays of hope. Moments of laughter.
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