Post #16 - One Too Many Mornings
I’m finally ready to write again as April is in my rearview mirror. It was a terribly difficult month for me, which in turn, means it was a terribly difficult month for us. And by “us”, I mean every one in my life. It was an emotional month for all of us.
“6 months already?” “It’s only been 6 months?” Rich and I kept repeating these 2 phrases to one another throughout April. While they may seem similar, the feelings have been polar opposites. April marked my 6-months-post-op-anniversary. I was hoping I would get a party, or even just a cupcake for this milestone; however, when you’re a member of this very exclusive club, you get a different kind of celebration - you get a new set of CT scans.
My CT scans were planned for Monday, April 5th; however, a very friendly administrator from MSK contacted me the Friday before and said I could come in on Sunday as there would be no waiting, or possible delays. I jumped at the opportunity to get it over with a day early as well as the ability to avoid more time in the waiting room. I was surprised as it was Easter Sunday, but Rich and I had no plans, and I was just grateful that I could get in and out.
We got in the car Sunday morning and headed to the White Plains branch of MSK. I was feeling anxious, but doing my best to stay calm and just remind myself that this is my new normal. People in my world kept saying that I was healthy and fine and that I was going to be ok. Look, I know people don’t know what to say, but I bristle when people say that to me now. The entire time I had my tumor, I never had one symptom. Not one. So, for me, feeling good does not mean I am healthy. Not even close. Not anymore.
As we turned into the facility and parked our car, I totally lost it. I burst into tears and was inconsolable. My poor Rich sat there, trying to comfort me while he rubbed my back. I knew what I had to do - my mother has preached these words to me my entire life: “Chin up. Shoulders back. Chest out.” I could hear my mother’s voice in my head. We walked hand-in-hand into the beautiful glass structure. At the check-in desk, they let us know, that even though Rich was an “approved visitor” he could not stay inside the building as it was Sunday and the normal waiting rooms were not open. A friendly nurse started showing us to the restroom and that is where I had to say goodbye to Rich. We kissed, through our masks, and I turned away to head towards radiology.
We walked through, what felt like a maze, and I never saw another patient in the entire facility. I was the only one in there. I was shown to another reception desk in radiology and filled out my paperwork. I went to change into an ultra-chic gown and had to get in IV put into my arm for the contrast used during my scans. The nurse who was putting my IV in asked if she could ask me a question and, of course, I obliged. She then asked how in the world my tumor was found. I made the long story as short as possible and she told me how lucky I was and proceeded with more chit chat. Please trust me when I say I know how lucky I am. I try and live my life that way every day. I know that every morning that I wake up, it’s a gift. There are so many people that don’t get to wake up each day, and I remember that with every day I cross-off the calendar. Both Rich and I try to live that way. We are not “seekers” and we aren’t the people that say, “when” - “when (insert a goal here) happens, I’ll be happy / grateful / accomplished, etc…”. We live with gratitude and appreciation for every day we get.
I was then called into the large, cool room that had the huge CT machine directly in front of me. The tech was super nice and he explained to me what each step was going to be. He said I was an old-pro at this and that he would be as quick as possible. With that, I put my arms over my head and was moved in and out of the machine several times being directed to breathe, hold my breath, exhale, etc… Then, over the speaker, I heard the tech tell me that the nurse would be in to hook up the contrast. The friendly woman came back in and let me know that it was going to be dripping in quickly. And, then I felt it. The warm wave that goes through your entire body and make you have to urinate. I am not kidding, you feel like you are going to pee your pants. It’s like having to pee and getting into a warm bath - that’s what it feels like. I was told to completely straighten my arm with the IV over my head for the next set of scans. In and out, in and out…..and, then, it was over. I went to change back into my clothes and headed out to the car.
There he was. My sense of calm, sitting in the car, windows cracked, reading his book. As soon as he saw me walking towards our car, Rich jumped out without a word and just hugged me. I felt the weight of the world off of my shoulders and we headed home while I told him all about it.
Now, we wait - 48 hours until I was able to see Dr. S on Tuesday, in the City, for my results. Tick tock. Tick tock. I had nothing else on my mind except that appointment. I made myself busy all day Sunday and Monday, but until I got the news on Tuesday, I really couldn’t be bothered. I was back to being the cat that was being pet in the wrong direction.
Tuesday morning, very early, the alarm went off. Time to get my results. Rich and I didn’t speak much that morning. We went through the motions of getting ready and out the door to make the drive into NYC. We parked in the garage that is right next to the building in which Dr. S sees his patients. It was a beautiful day with clear blue skies. We walked the 200 feet to the front door, hand-in-hand, and went up to the all-too-familiar 5th floor waiting room. Sitting there, all my memories flooded back. It was like a running movie in my mind. I saw patients going in and out of the chemotherapy suite and I felt the familiar feel of my survivor’s guilt creep in - it was fully engulfing my brain. “Marissa Gaster?” I heard a young woman say. I jumped up and Rich and I walked down the long hallway to the exam room. It was the same fish-eye lens view I had the first time I walked down this hallway.
Time stopped as we sat in the very beige room. We waited for about 10 minutes and each one felt like an eternity. Dr. S’s nurse practitioner, Esther, came in first and we spoke about how I was doing and how I was feeling. I brought up only like 2 small issues and she had very practical advice for me. She also felt my abdomen and looked at my incision and said everything looked and felt good. She said she would be back in with Dr. S for my results. And, then he walked in - the man who saved my life. He also asked me how I was feeling, doing, anything wrong? I covered basically the same points I had just spoke about, but I really just wanted my results. He proceeded to also feel my stomach and intestines and check out my scar. He seemed pleased. Now came my results. Everything looked “normal”. I have never been more happy to be labeled “normal”. He did say he wanted to see new scans in 3 months (instead of 6) as my covid vaccine may be causing some inflammation. He said he wasn’t worried. If Dr. S wasn’t going to worry, I certainly wasn’t going to worry.
We then spoke of my thyroid. When I first met Dr. S, he said he would want to ultrasound my thyroid once we got through my tumor and cancer. He now said we should do it ASAP as he would then have a baseline to compare it during my next scans in 3 months. Dr. S’s scheduling nurse called me (by the time we got to our car) and told me White Plains had an opening Wednesday at 7:45am or Friday at 7:45am. As I was scheduled to see my primary doctor Friday at 8am, I took Wednesday. I let Rich know he was off the hook as I could do this one on my own. (He’s not really a morning person and all this week was full of very early mornings.) And, with that, we made our way home. We both crashed and rested for a lot of the afternoon. We were both physically, mentally, and emotionally spent.
Dr. U greeted me on the screen of my Mac and was super nice in letting me know that all looked “normal” from his standpoint. He saw that it wasn’t “normal” in terms of the function, but that I didn’t need to worry about thyroid cancer - for now. He said he would monitor it with another ultrasound and follow-up in 6 months. Looks like I have a new player on my roster. At 42, I never thought I would see this many doctors in such a short amount of time. I swear our calendar revolves around my appointments.
At this point, I feel pretty good with where I am. My health is coming back, slowly but surely, every day. I have some new medical issues that I am dealing with, but none of them are life-threatening. I never knew how good “common” issues could feel. I am trying to be patient, compassionate, and kind to myself - not an easy task for me. I tend to be very hard on myself and, in turn, hard on the people around me. I struggle when I feel people just can’t understand every little thing I am going through and then I feel the need to express every feeling I have. This past year has tested me in ways I didn’t know possible, and in ways I didn’t want to know were possible. I know my brain has a long way to go, but, I am hoping that the old adage is true - time heals all wounds.