99% is still okay

Tuesday, December 20, 2011: Yesterday was scan day, scheduled oh-so-long-ago (3 mos.) when Christmas-time was just a dream away. Now, it's here on our doorsteps and I found myself, once again, drinking nasty contrast and lying in a tube, listening to an automated voice, saying, "Breathe in and hold," and "You may now breathe normally." So much the same and yet, so different, as this time, when the contrast injection began to flow through my bloodstream, the spreading warmth (that feels very weird) was present in my neck, my fingers, my forehead, and of course, my bladder. If you've never had it, it's a strange sensation. I was surprised that my cold fingers and forehead got warm. Hot flash?? I think not. Everything seemed to go very quickly, as the waiting room was not very busy and the technicians seemed relaxed and ultra-focused. Lindsey and I were amazed that we were in and out long before we expected.

This morning, off we drove again to the Huntsman Center to talk to Dr. Grossmann and get the results of the scans. The place seemed deserted, comparatively! The waiting room was empty (it's usually brimming with us cancer folks). I had my lab work done and then waited a brief five minutes before I was called back to an exam room. And then, it was only a minute or two before a little knock brought Dr. Grossmann into the room. Lindsey commented on his colorful bow tie - an orange-ish plaid today. He joked that she was "easily entertained," and we laughed. He dove right into the scans, pulling them up on his computer. The first thing he said was that they were "99% good", but that there was a "little something" that he wanted to check out. He tried to show me on the scan where there was a some type of a blip (honestly, I couldn't see what he was referring to, but you know how doctors can see what the human eye cannot!) on my left side by my rib cage, "probably about where your bra strap is." He asked if I had felt it and I said, no. He had me change into a gown and lie on my right side with my left arm above my head and then he proceeded to "look" and feel for this blip. Just as I felt a little pain, he said, "Oh, there it is, and there's a little bruising, too, which may indicate some type of 'trauma'." He had me reach around with my right arm and feel it, too. It felt quite a bit like the tiny cyst I had on my stomach - just a little "node" that kind of hurt to touch.

One great thing about being at the Huntsman Center is that all they deal with is cancer - diagnosis, treatment, studies, scans, etc. So, we shouldn't have been all that surprised when Dr. G announced that he would call a pathologist in to do a needle biopsy right there and then. Within 10 minutes, Dr. Lopez and Dr. Chadwick came in with their little cart of needles, testing equipment, and a microscope to do the procedure. I continued to lay on my side, and they took four fluid samples to test. What a blessing to know right away instead of having to wait - and what if I had had to wait over Christmas? The two doctors looked at all four samples and determined that NO melanoma was showing up immediately. Dr. G was very encouraged by this, as he said that melanoma cells tend to manifest right away and be very present, so to NOT see them in any of the four samples was great news. He still wanted to do a few other tests on the samples, but didn't seem overly concerned. I trust him. I'm trying not to be overly concerned, too.

Then, he told me that the scans were also showing two "suspect" lymph nodes in my left neck. My heart sunk. But, one thing I love about Dr. Grossmann is that he is not a "dramatic" doctor. As he read the radiologist's report on these nodes, he said that he wanted to call him up and say, "Really? You really think that's something to be concerned about?"... because obviously Dr. G was not. He explained that normal lymph nodes tend to look a little like Lima beans (now, why hasn't someone given me that visual before? I love it!) and that they are mostly made up of fat, which can, of course, grow and shrink from time to time. Nodes that are "hot" are ones that have lost some of the fat cells and can be a sign of trauma (such as recent surgery, scar tissue, etc.) or cancer or illness or whatever else. He thinks the trauma is what is happening with these nodes, but he wants to be sure, so he ordered a PET scan, the 3-D imaging (and super expensive) one. Again, my heart sunk because the other day Dean announced that his company's insurance is changing January 1. Who knows exactly what this new insurance will cover, which doctors it will cover, and just what is going to be happening with my future care? (Very worrisome...) Lindsey mentioned this to Dr. G and asked that, if at ALL possible, the scan could be scheduled before the end of the year. He was very understanding and said he would try to make that happen. When the receptionist at the front desk seemed less than convinced that we really did NEED that to happen before the end of the year, Lindsey asked if she would make a note in BIG, RED print. Obviously, the persistence worked because just a couple of hours after I got home, the radiology department called to set up an appointment for this coming Thursday. What a relief.

After the appointment, Lindsey asked how I felt. I don't think I am discouraged or even afraid, but I am disappointed. I just want a 3-month scan that comes back without any further complications. When I told this to Mom, she said something interesting: "Maybe you will never have a 'normal' 3-month scan because your good doctors will always be looking at every tiny little thing that doesn't quite fit." So true. I should be grateful for that, and I really am. I'm also grateful for doctors who use their professional expertise and their immense knowledge and don't jump to conclusions and start panicking at things like "nodes" and blips. I'm grateful that they've seen enough melanoma and know all the ins and outs to make positive assessments and order appropriate procedures. I'm grateful that I can trust their training and their wisdom. Above all, I'm grateful that I can leave the Center and still feel hopeful, knowing what I know and living with what I have to live with. Yep, these days I'll take 99%, gladly.