Someday I’ll create an essay detailing the reasons I dislike having to find babysitting. The reasons range from fear of babysittorial incompetance to fear of being-a-bother. The annoyance factor increases dramatically if I don’t want to go to the event that requires my kids to be elsewhere. There is just no happy in making 6 phone calls to try to round up babysitting for 4 children so that I can be drugged and stuck into a claustrophobic MRI machine. Particularly when with every phone call I have to explain where I’m going, that it’s nothing serious just a routine check up, yes I have one every year, no I don’t think the tumor is back, no it wasn’t cancerous, yes that’s right two surgeries and radiation therapy, Oh, you’d love to help but Friday is busy, well thanks anyway. Repeat. Only I don’t want to. I want to spend the next 4 days in denial about that MRI and in NOT thinking about a very dark period in my life which seems to be over now except for the yearly MRI test which requires me to lie still, not swallow, and contemplate how I really, really, really never want to do any of that again.
I normally don’t mind talking about my medical experiences. They’re part of my life. I learned from them I wouldn’t wish to have not gone through them because I came out stronger. It’s the MRI I fear. The MRI with it’s ephemeral possibility that they’ll find a reoccurance of the tumor. I wouldn’t wish the experience UNdone, but I really really want it to be DONE.
Enough angsty rambling. Back to the phone with me.
*sends hope and well-wishes*
Here’s to hoping it’s nothing…
And if it isn’t, I guess it didn’t get enough of the first round of rearend-kicking…
Y’all can beat it… I have ever faith that you will…
But till then… We’re behind you, and pulling for you…
*hugs*
You have a great support system at that house… With all the love and joy inside those four walls, how could “bad” even stand being there?
Re: *sends hope and well-wishes*
Thanks for the well wishes. There isn’t any indication that this is anything other than a routine check-up. It’s only my back-brain fear speaking.
Re: *sends hope and well-wishes*
Don’t you hate it when your fears start back-talking you?
I’m sure it’ll all end up routine, and we’ll all have had a momentary heart attack for absolutely nothing…
Re: *sends hope and well-wishes*
Its very unlikely to be anything other than routine. It’s been 5 years now and every year they’ve turned out routine, but I’m scared every year.
Good wishes on continued good health. I know how happy I was when I finally had enough clean Pap smears that I can go back to having on once a year instead of having one every six months.
The Full Story
For those of you who are dying of curiosity, but being polite and not asking, here is the “full” story.
When Kiki was about a year old I had a blocked salivary duct under my chin, it was painful, but antibiotics cleared it up. So when Kiki was around 18 months old and I noticed a lump under my chin I figure it was related and didn’t worry about it much. I was considering getting pregnant with a sibling for Kiki though and so I had it checked.
It is frightening how quickly the medical community can move when they suspect cancer. I went to a 9:30 am appointment and by 1 pm I’d seen a specialist, had a biopsy, had a CAT scan, and been scheduled for surgury. The CAT scan seemed to indicate non-cancerous, but until it was removed and pathologized we couldn’t be sure. The growth was removed, I recovered, and the pathology report came back as Desmoid Fibro Mitosis. Not cancerous, I figured we were done.
I got pregnant, had Link, and when he was about 8 months old I realized that the lump under my chin was back. MRI and ENT agreed with my informal assessment and I underwent another surgery. At my post-op appointment my ENT said “I think we got it all, but that’s what I thought last time, so here is the number of a radiologist.” The Radiologist had actually dealt with my fairly rare tumor before. He sat me down with report after report and showed me pretty clearly that if I didn’t radiate the tumor, it would probably come back again and again.
I underwent 7 weeks of daily radiation therapy. I now have first hand experience with radiation burns. Whee. The radiation therapy was in 1999 and since then I’ve had an MRI every year to make sure we killed the tumor. At this point death of tumor is pretty assured, but I like the fact that the doctors are careful.
In all it was about 3 years of mostly normal with medically awful interspersed. Yay for really good insurance.
Don’t say “heart attack”
Please don’t say “heart attack.” I’ve had one.
It was the same year Sandra had the radiation treatments. 1999 began with six weeks of hell for her, progressed into 20 weeks of recovery and gradual stabilization for all of us, then a brief respite in October as I got to take Sandra WITH me on a business trip to South Africa, and then ended with me hospitalized for Myocarditis in early December.
“Tonight I’m Gonna Party Like It’s 1999” eh? Bite me RIGHT HERE, mister “Prince” (or whatever you call yourself.)
Re: Don’t say “heart attack”
Oh, NOW you tell me this…
😉
I don’t seem to recall enjoying ’99 all the much either…