I spent a good portion of yesterday at the VA Loma Linda. It was time for Ken to have his MRI so we can see if the treatment is still "working" with his brain cancer, and I had my regular check up.
Ken got his MRI read immediately because he is a "Priority Level 1" and he needed the images read and put on disk to take to UCLA. We were so thrilled to see the Radiologist's report stating that there has been no change in the tumor since it was first diagnosed in October 2008.
We went through the normal conversation with my doctor. I remember telling Ken that I didn't want to "bother" with completing the paperwork to join into the VA system, but Ken persisted and I have always been glad that he did. The VA has taken great care of me when I spent years with HMOs and PPOs trying to get healthy. I always know that I'm in the CITI program because of his 100% status, but it's still nice to have someone listen to me.
Well, my doctor is supposed to listen, but he tends to not listen to me - partly because he is going deaf and partly because I am female. Dr. Blee does a great job listening to Ken, but I take it in stride. Dr. Blee was an Army medic in Korea and Vietnam, but he will work with me so long as what I want comes from Ken. He ordered my annual blood test, told me that he would call if there was a problem, and I went to the 4th Floor to have my blood drawn.
This morning, I realized that I missed a call after making coffee. I had a message from Dr. Blee stating that he wanted to talk to me about my blood test. I instantly went into panic mode and spent the next three hours calling Dr. Blee's extension every 1/2 hour only to hear the phone ring and ring and ring.
At noon, I finally heard from my doctor. The first thing he asks me is if I drink. I explain that I'll have maybe a glass of wine, but it's not nightly. He then starts talking about how there was an "abnormality" with my liver, and he wants me to get back down there in order to do another blood test in order to check the results as well as get tested for hepatitis and "other things." I do everything I can at this point to keep myself together, and I promise him that I will get down there for the blood draw.
Ken and I both jump into the shower quickly and then made the 45 minute trip to the VA. I go straight to the lab, where the phlebotomist who drew my number again is surprised to see me back. When the staff initially checked me in, she printed out the labels for the vials, and the printing went on and on and on. I wasn't sure if I was going to have blood left in my body when they were done. Ken asked if I would get orange juice and cookies when she was done, and while she said no, she was laughing and I tried to relax.
After my blood was drawn, I went to speak to my doctor about what the hell is going on. Again, the first thing he asks me is if I drink alcohol. I repeat - again - that I rarely drink and that it's always in moderation. Dr. Blee said that he was happy with that and reminds me that red wine is good for me. He tells me that he thinks there was simply a mistake with my labs because I'm too young for such a bad report. He shows me the report and my numbers are BAD. The doctor tells me that he is re-running the three panels as well as "other tests" with the hope that the three panels will be fine tomorrow, but then there's other test results in case they aren't. He reassures me that he will call me as soon as the results are in, and worst case scenario - he'll order a CT scan of my liver and pancreas.
I left the VA really trying to wrap my head around all of this. Ken is trying to lift my spirits as best as he can, but even I cannot seem to find humor in this. We spent the last 18 months working to keep Ken with us after learning his cancer has returned, only to face the possibility that I could be the one who gets sick.
Throughout the drive home, I try to get myself in check - I have been on a LOT of medication over the last year while the doctors tried to figure out what was wrong with me (thank goodness for the hysterectomy this July!), and I know that I have taken way too much Tylenol and Advil during the last year because of all of the pain but the need to keep going through each day.
Halfway home, I decide that I want to pick the girls up from school and have all of us go out for supper. It's a real treat for them, but now I'm facing the fact that life can/is short! Ken has always kept me in check - reminding me that we need to enjoy each day and take life as it comes. But today, I have way too many things going through my mind and heart.
What if???? Those are always horrible words. What would happen to the girls? Their dad would not only screw them up, but he would forbid Ken from seeing them. Why couldn't I....? Another really bad question to start asking yourself when there is no possible way of knowing what is wrong.
Not having an answer is so much worse than the question. So, why did I have this bad panel of tests? What does it mean? What are the possibilities for me?
There are so many times that I wished I could have been a better person, and it is this phone call from my doctor that has put everything into check for me - while I wanted to do things differently, I am the person I am.
I have always wanted to be the pretty, feminine, head-turning girl. That hasn't been me. I am forever a Tomboy who looks good in a dress but prefers jeans and T-shirts. I have always wanted to be "proper" and "acceptable," but the real me is a foul-mouthed, sarcastic person who likes to laugh at life and tell things like they are while still being sensitive to others. I have always wanted to be the mom who puts her daughters' hair in pretty curls, makes the best meals, and takes the extra time to put wonderful baked creations together. Well, that's just not me either. I would rather buy the cute things and spend time with the girls doing other things - like camping, traveling, etc. I can never get excited about expensive perfume because the smell of gun oil is still the best smell to me - well, other than a freshly bathed baby! But seriously, the smell of gun oil gets me all bothered. Ken knows this and loves me for it.
So, we take the girls out to their favorite local restaurant. We eat all of our meals together normally at home, but going out to eat - especially on a school night was a huge treat. They have no idea what I'm going through on the inside: preparing for a battle that I hope won't ever have to happen but realizing that I'm ready to fight whatever may be wrong with me.
The girls, not knowing that I'm falling apart inside, have NO desire to take a picture at the table, so this is what I get when I ask for them to sit together for me:
AWESOME! I have to admit this was a really cool shot. After a little while, the girls start to relax, but Jordan is the only one telling me to take pictures of her. Ever the camera ham, she poses and has a great time:
Then, Jordan wants a picture with her bestest Daddy:
By the end of the night out, the girls were tired and very happy. I finally got a big wake-up slap across the proverbial face to remember that every day is good and not to nag my children to death and to enjoy them. As always, I looked into the face of my Love, Ken, and saw how much he loves me and cares for me.
Knowing that stress takes time off your life made it easier to push the nasty thoughts of the day behind me. I know that I will be anxious until I hear from the doctor. Fear of the unknown is worse than anything else. Whatever is dealt to me will be handled, but I seriously crave to be told that it was just a mistake.
In the meantime, I have kissed my girls goodnight and tucked them into bed, and I will now allow Ken to end his "suffering" - that being that I will head back to our room and snuggle with him rather than venting to the cyber world about my concerns.
October 2008 saw us dealing with one "wake-up" call from a doctor and we have now had another one. I'm not sure what Ken and I are meant to do with our lives, but we were meant to handle it together and prepare our girls for something great with our example.
Here's hoping for a better phone call tomorrow secure in the knowledge of who I am and that I am pretty cool.
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