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Turtle Tales
by Carol Breidenbach
The really really bad scary week
15 May 2001
Everyone who has ever had cancer dreads the necessary regular check-ups.
On Friday, February 9, 2001 I had my ten year check-up. After ten years,
I am a lot calmer and don't get a really bad case of "Check-up Crazies."
(There is an actual name for this fear inducing event.)
I passed the mammogram in flying colors and never even worried about the
chest X-ray. I didn't notice that they never gave me the results. After
X-rays, I was off to the oncologist's office. You always catch on when
something isn't right before they tell you. The receptionist asked an
innocent question. Didn't they send the original films with you? "Why
would he want to see the original films?" I asked. "Just routine," she
said. I knew better!
The oncologist asked me if they had found anything unusual on my chest
X-ray in November when I was hit by a truck. (That is another column.) I
told him that I didn't have a chest X-ray at the time. He found this
unbelievable and said that that left hope that the spot they found on my
lung could be some bleeding from the accident and not a tumor. Tumor! He
said the word tumor! I tried to hear...could be something from the
accident...but all I heard was tumor!
I was scheduled for a ct scan the next week. I should say the next long
week. I tried to stay calm, even consenting to have lunch although my
stomach had other ideas. I am very grateful that I was not alone. My
husband, Lenny, always accompanies me to those check-ups and then takes me
out for lunch to celebrate. He said not to fear, this would just be a
delayed celebration.
I have often counseled other cancer patients not to panic when they get
suspicious test results. As part of a support group, I have seen many
people worry excessively over test results that turn out okay after
further testing. I had difficulty taking my own advice. I remembered a
quote: "Real difficulties can be overcome; it is only the imaginary ones
that are unconquerable."
I went back to work and tried to keep busy and productive. Daytime wasn't
too bad but in the middle of the night I would awaken and my imagination
would dip a huge paintbrush into a bucket of fear and paint all kinds of
horrible murals on my bedroom walls.
I felt guilty for my anxiety when some people I knew were facing actual
medical crisis. I reviewed my life. Had I been good enough? Was I
generous enough with my time, talent and money? I resorted to bargaining
prayer, promising the Lord that if my test came out okay I would always
return the shopping cart to those little corals in the parking lot, no
matter how far the walk. Then the ultimate bargaining prayer, "Let me live
and if my mother-in-law comes back to life, I will like her this time,
really I will".
As luck would have it, I had to go to the funeral home during that time
and I was sure that I was next. I worried how I would tell my children who
were so glad the truck didn't kill me, that I was... My appetite is gone.
Good way to lose weight, or is it? I am disappointed in myself that I am
not saner and stronger.
I call a good friend. She is reassuring and positive. The ct scan is
Wednesday and I see the Doctor on Friday. The week is a gift and I
foolishly waste part of it with worry. My husband is loving and
supportive. I steal his time also. I sew Valentine gifts and pack
Valentine packages and try to keep busy.
Wednesday comes, this is it. They try three times to put the dye in my
veins and three times the vein blows. They decide to try the ct scan
without the dye otherwise they have to get someone to make a small incision
in my hand. The chemo I took ten years ago ruined my veins. Everybody
apologizes for the problem.
In I go... The radiologist comes out and inquires if I have been in an
accident. I tell him that I was hit by a pick-up truck as a pedestrian in
November. He tells me that all he sees is a whole screen of broken ribs.
The broken ribs sound like good news compared to a tumor!
We cry and celebrate, life if good again.
Along with celebrating, I feel shame. I really gave into fear. I know
the premise of living one day at a time, and failed miserably. Dr. Bernie
Seigle always says that we should look to check-ups as evidence of our good
health instead of something to fear. I failed to take his advice.
I had decided not to tell my children anything until after the final
check-up. My oldest daughter Angela said that as glad as she was that I
was alright, she was angry with me for not telling her what I was going
through. She then asked me what I would have told her if I did have cancer
again. I told her that I would have told her that she had a mother that
deeply loved and cared about her for 32 years and that is more than a lot
of people get. She said that was a good answer, but she still would have
been mad.
The really bad scary week turned out to be a good week. I hope I remember
that the next time.
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