First Person: The virtue of learning to wait

Editor’s note: This is the third installment of a multipart series taken from the journal of a breast cancer survivor. Read part one here. Click here to read part two.

Another day, another appointment

It’s almost a month since I had the first mammogram and finally I learned from my oncologist/surgeon that I am healed enough for an MRI next Wednesday. I will be injected with a contrast fluid consisting of some heavy metal that can affect the liver if it is in a compromised condition. I needed to have blood work to be sure that wasn’t the case. I also need to have my chest X-ray sent over as I would soon need surgery.

The waiting game

MRI tomorrow! Scenarios keep running through my head and I can’t turn them off. What-ifs are rampant and I am physically nauseated from worry. I’m terrified.

To top it all off, the few well-meaning folks who know what’s going on are beginning to call and ask, “When are you having surgery?” “Why is it taking so long? They know you have a lump — why don’t they just take it out?” “Will your surgery be before I go on vacation; my business trip?” Seriously, how the heck should I know? I haven’t had the MRI yet. The doctor hasn’t seen the MRI nor do I have a clue when she will schedule the surgery date. Now I know why my doctor stressed not telling too many people about my “issue.” I am going to pack up accumulated years of kitchen items in boxes and pretend none of this is happening. Then I’ll watch an old science fiction movie. The scarier the better!

MRI

MRI today! I am so claustrophobic I hope to God I’ll be able to get inside that thing. They want to give me Xanax, but I don’t want it. I must keep my faculties about me and concentrate on not being inside a coffin-like tube praying the Big One, aka earthquake, doesn’t hit while I’m there.

At 5 p.m., the same day: Praise the Lord! When I arrived at the imaging center I was relieved to see they had two of the latest MRI machines. Open on both ends and not remotely coffin-like! I didn’t need to be “relaxed” through modern chemistry.

Once face down on the table designed with holes for “breast placement,” I was given ear covers and told to take shallow breaths so not to move the chest area any more than necessary, etc. I had a momentary lapse and thought about a family member’s dairy farm in Michigan. Hmm, wonder why? I have decided that if I had a modicum of modesty left in my being it was now pretty much gone as my “girls” have been seen by more people in the last few weeks than in my entire lifetime.

The first MRI, without contrast, took a while and then they put the gadolinium into the IV. It was cold and I could feel it wending its way up my arm. I knew it was also working its way through my body, into my kidneys, liver and eyeballs where hopefully it wouldn’t do any permanent damage.

Once injected, the substance accumulates in abnormal tissues of the body and allows for greater contrast between those tissues so doctors/surgeons are then able to see abnormal growths. The Food and Drug Administration has been investigating gadolinium because of the risk of nephrogenic systemic fibrosis, a rare but serious condition associated with its use in some patients with kidney problems. Kill or cure.

Another day, another phone call

My spouse called today. He wondered when surgery would be scheduled. “Please tell me you didn’t just ask me that question? I just had the MRI yesterday! It takes time to look at it and evaluate it. It might be today, it might be tomorrow, it might be Monday. I know you have to schedule meetings and trips but I can only do what I can only do — wait, and I’m getting pretty good at it!”

Why oh why did I have to have a biopsy problem? I’d be dealing with this quietly and personally until I knew more. No questions, no phone calls, no pressing need for anyone else to know every little detail.

MRI Results

My surgeon phoned after 5:30 p.m. today. The first thing she asked me was if I was feeling all right. It was her voice and demeanor on the phone that gave me the first hint that things weren’t quite OK. If you are an “American Idol” fan it was sort of like when Randy Jackson says to the contestant who clearly had problems, “So, Dawg, you look really great tonight” when “Your performance sucked,” is what he wanted to say! “But you just didn’t do all that well, it was actually a bit of a train wreck. Not your best performance. I don’t think you’ll make it to the next round.”

Yep, that was the gist of the conversation with my surgeon. There seemed to be another “spot” that worried them. She wanted me to go in for an ultrasound at 9 a.m. the next day, perhaps for another biopsy. Please say it isn’t true, because I can’t afford another month or more to wait to heal if this one goes bad too!

Another Next Day

I went for my ultrasound armed with a bottle of water, an anxiety pill and a book. The ultrasound went smoothly. The doctor walked in to say he was going to call my surgeon but it was basically the same story. There “appeared” to be another spot. Same breast, thankfully, the other was clear! Best news: no biopsy for the time being.

At the surgeon’s office 15 minutes later she said she heard back from the radiologist who had reread the MRI and ultrasound and determined the spot was just from trauma to the breast and not a tumor! Good news, but certainly I’d just gone from one extreme emotion to another.

As I sat there digesting this new piece of information, she told me she wanted to schedule surgery in three weeks. She discussed some of what she would do, what I would need to do, where to show up, at what time and the fact that I could probably go home the same day, unless lymph nodes were involved. On my drive home I don’t know if I felt relief or more tension at the thought of going under the knife. Once there I packed up about four more boxes of kitchen items for donation to the Assistance League, which is going to either love or hate me.

Biding Time

I’ve never been good at waiting. When there’s a job to be done I just do it — get it over with and move on to the next. so waiting for surgery and outcome is disconcerting. Surprisingly, over the past few days I have been able to put my “issue/problem” as I call it away in a little place where I don’t think about it all the time.

Subliminally my “issue,” aka my “problem” appears at night in the form of very bizarre nightmares. I have been locked in rooms trying to get out; in rooms trying to keep someone out; protecting myself (and my departed mother, oddly enough) with a Bowie knife — which I attributed to that evening’s episode of “America’s Got Talent.” There were men chasing me with machine guns, one of whom I dispatched with a well-placed rock to the head. I was lost in creepy mansions. Perhaps I’ve watched one too many episodes of “Dexter.”

I went to lunch today with my sister and daughter. I wondered how long it would be before one mentioned my “problem.” I figured we’d get at least halfway through our meal. Boy, was I off. Three minutes into the car ride, my daughter brought up the “C” word. I told her I wasn’t going to discuss it and that I was using the word “problem.” I’m not in denial. I have a problem and problems can be solved. At the restaurant we had a lovely visit, laughing ourselves silly and talking about everything but the elephant in the room. It was wonderful!

Next week: surgery and the first trip to the “Infusion Room” for chemotherapy.

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ELAINE LA MARR is a 38-year La Cañada Flintridge resident and former Valley Sun staff writer.