Listen to Your Gut
I determined to continue being a squeaky wheel. The secretary I called daily told me to pay attention, instead, to my garden. Yup, she really said that. Then she stopped answering my calls. So I messaged Dr. Malakoti and asked what the two-month delay since my last PET scan was about. I told her I was getting nervous because I’ve had symptoms for eight months without a diagnosis. A week later I got a call from the surgical suite at University of Washington.
“Hi Marilea. I’m calling from Dr. Kim’s office at UW. He wants to see you right away, tomorrow if possible at 1:00 to schedule your surgery. Can you make it?”
“Can I make it? With bells on. I’ll be there, and thank you!”
So Gene and I raced down to Seattle to meet my surgeon. He was very nice, and when I gave him the timeline of my symptoms, he looked alarmed.
“How soon can you get me in for surgery?”
“By Friday or next week at the latest. I’ll meet with my team and put you in at the head of the line. This qualifies as an emergency and we want to see what’s going on right away.”
“Oh, thank goodness! And how soon will it take for pathology to get back to you?”
“Three to five days. My nurse will come in to talk about pre-op procedures for you, and my secretary will call you to give you a surgical date.
And just like that I’m all set up for my second excisional biopsy with a promised diagnosis within a week thereafter. I’ve been living in limbo for so long that I’m not sure how I feel. With a definitive diagnosis (hopefully) comes the acceptance I crow so loudly about. We’ll see if I can manage it.
The biopsy went well. And I behaved myself: no activity for two weeks.
Which I did. Just in time to get the news that I do, in fact, have lymphoma.
I’ve kind of known this all along. Arrogant? No, more like intuitive. My symptoms are glaring—and now add fatigue to the mix—so I’ve always known I was very sick with something. But the night sweats aren’t “exotic” anymore. They’re just annoying, and I would like them to end. I’m glad to have a diagnosis so that some form of treatment can begin.
This story in nine parts has been my attempt to articulate my feelings, a healthy practice. My playing “Dr. Google” may or may not have been helpful. I have found no one in the medical community, including Dr. Julia, to discuss my case frankly with me. So all my research has been an attempt to get out in front of it all, prepare myself for my reality, and feel somewhat in control of a process that isn’t really mine to control. As a friend of mine told me,
“We are of an age when the fates will play their cards.”
And so they have.
My oncologist said WEB MD should not be your PCP, Nancy. I loved that brilliant man from India!
Thanks, Nancy. Well, if I’d had a doctor to talk to, I might not have relied so much on the internet. Lesson learned. It’s largely outdated information, anyway. Thanks for checking in.