In the beginning...

November 2010: My daily routine - wake up at 6, read a little from the latest library book while Dean eats breakfast and gets ready for work, kiss goodbye, give the first wake-up call to my Janessa, and start warming up the shower. Soaping up, I feel a bump under my right ear. Weird. It's about the size of a quarter. Squishy. Swollen gland? Only hurts when I press hard. When was I last sick? Remnants of my last cold?

December 2010: Catch a good bug a few weeks before Christmas. Knocks me off my socks for a few days. That bump is still there. Really has to be a swollen gland. Hurts when I move my head. But now, I have nightmares. I'm looking things up on the Internet, scary things I don't want to read. I ask Dean to feel the bump. Should I go to the doctor? I start saying things to myself, words like tumor and lump (instead of bump), and sometimes those words leak out when I don't feel up to par, like the joke about the epitaph on the gravestone that says, "See, I told you I was sick!"

January 2011: Money is tight. Dean is worried about his prescriptions for high blood pressure and diabetes. I am finally working more, so I resolve to go to the doctor to check on this bump. I drop Janessa off at school one early morning and am second in line at Instacare. "What are we seeing you for today?" they say. To grant me peace, to quiet my fears, to give me drugs that make this thing go away. "I have a swollen gland and it's been there for a few months." I'm a worried mess. My blood pressure soars. White coat syndrome, I joke with the nurse. She says not to leave before they take it again. I promise. The doctor comes in. He's kind and gentle. He feels the bump, checks all vital signs, including BP which is much lower now that I'm here at this point. Could be a swollen gland, he says. Could be something else, like swollen lymph nodes. He checks my armpits for other swelling. None. He says sometimes these swollen glands or nodes can stick around for up to six months before they go away. He gives me a list of Ear/Nose/Throat specialists in the area and advises that I see one if I don't see or feel any improvement. I am relieved. He didn't seem worried. I go away feeling a bit better and glad that I finally have some answers, though vague ones.

February 15, 2011: I am getting sick. I have a runny nose that won't quit. I spend the day with tissues, a jar of Mentholatum, and orange juice. I still go to chorus rehearsal, but don't sing much. Rats! I hate being sick, especially this week when we plan to go to St. George to (belatedly) celebrate Lachlan's birthday.

February 16, 2011: I am worse today. We have visits planned with the Stake RS, so I call my Relief Society president and tell her that I will be there, but I'm bringing my tissues and my hand sanitizer and I will not hug or breathe on anyone. She laughs. I laugh. But I feel worse as the evening progresses. My only bright spot is the call from Lachlan, who is 4 today. "Hi, Grammy! I love you. I miss you. Today's my birthday and we're going to Pirate Pizza! Are you coming, too?"

February 17, 2011: Thursday. We are supposed to leave tomorrow for St. George. I am so sick, I'm in tears. My neck is the size of a linebacker's, swollen on the right side from my check to my chest. I can't turn my head. I am coughing now. My ears are plugged. I call Chelsea and bawl as I ask for their prayers that I can feel better and still come see them. I call Mom and bawl as I ask for her prayers. I spend a night in hell, as I can't put my head on the pillow or move it in any way without pain, so I doze in the recliner. My neck is slathered with Vicks Vapor Rub and wrapped in a towel. I ask Dean for a priesthood blessing. He asks that the infection and pain be taken away, so I can feel well enough to go to St. George and see my babies.

February 18, 2011: Friday morning. Again, first in line at Instacare. Blood pressure high again. No temperature, though my neck is still balloon-sized. Runny nose better. Slight cough, but not bad. Dr. Pepper (yes, really!) is animated and reassuring. He is concerned that this is my second visit for the same swollen neck. This time, there is action. He takes X-rays of my chest and under my arms. No other swollen glands. That's good. He gives me an antibiotic, a strong one, to get rid of any infection any where. And best of all, he makes an appointment for me to see Dr. Joshua Bradley, ENT specialist, for the following Tuesday. "This was extremely hard for me to get," he says. "When one place told me you'd have to wait until the end of March, I told them, no, she has to get in next week!" I am grateful. I'll be more grateful later. I take the first dose of drugs. By noon, I feel well enough to handle the 5 hour trip to St. George. I wear a scarf around my neck to hide the bulge, but I know prayers are already being answered.

February 22, 2011: I wait quite a while at the IHC Salt Lake Clinic for my appointment with Dr. Bradley. The place is packed with sick people, and I am one of them, though I am 95% better than I was a week ago. If my neck were a normal size, I would be well. Finally, I am taken to a room where I sit in a chair that looks like it belongs at the optometrist's. Dr. Bradley comes in. He is young, so young. I feel old. But he is kind and soft-spoken. He shakes my hand reassuringly and looks straight into my eyes when I talk. He takes notes. He nods. He smiles. He steps behind me and feels both sides of my neck, then concentrates on the right side. He says it feels like lymph nodes. He wants to take a fluid biopsy. He is surprised that I don't flinch when he deadens the area with a local anesthesia. I giggle nervously. He leaves to visit another patient while my neck goes numb and I hear him politely tell a sweet, little old lady that she is losing her hearing and that's why she has been losing her balance and getting dizzy. I think to myself, we are all fighting something, aren't we? Dizziness. Vertigo. Lymph nodes. Finally, the doctor returns, maybe too soon because my neck is not numb. I feel the needle going into my neck and it hurts. He sees me grimace and asks if he should stop. I say, no. Let's get this over with. He pumps the needle a few times, in and out, gathering the fluid that will be sent off for analysis. Let's get a good sample. He says it feels "crunchy", like lymph nodes. Yeah, it hurts. But it's done, and he squirts the liquid into a plastic cup and seals the lid. Off it will go to a sterile room where someone will study it impassively and make the decisions that will affect the rest of my life. This is the beginning.