Listening In

Wednesday, March 7, 2012: (One year since my initial diagnosis of melanoma)
Today was the long-awaited endoscopy/biopsy procedure with Dr. Adler at the Huntsman Center. After a terrific snowstorm last night, I thought today might be a repeat of our adventure one year ago when I found out I had melanoma AND had to drive home from the clinic in a blizzard! (Actually, I was too distraught to drive - my sweet Aaron did the driving that day.) Lindsey and I arrived at Huntsman to a crowded waiting room of other cancer patients getting endoscopies, colonoscopies, and surgeries performed. We always wonder what their story is. I was smart and wore a coat and a sweater this cold morning to make the IV poke a little easier, and the wonderful nurse, Emma, who took me back to the prep room, swaddled both my arms in warm hospital blankets right off the bat. It did help, but I still had to have two pokes when the first one in my right hand didn't work. This endoscopy felt more like surgery than the other two I've had recently - I had to lay on a gurney and be wheeled to the procedure room, where before I've walked to the bed where I'd be examined. That was a little nerve-wracking. Very kind nurses and technicians helped me through the "hooking up" process and then Dr. Adler appeared, saying, "Is this the famous Lisa Boynton?" I don't know about that, but I guess I'm becoming somewhat of a regular around the place. He explained the procedure and added that even though he hadn't seen anything on the other two endoscopies, "Dr. Grossmann must be very worried about this." That was surprising to me because I've felt all along that if Dr. G was worried, he would have insisted the procedure be done sooner. That kind of threw me off kilter for a minute. The wires and monitors were hooked up and the sedation nurse said, "Good-night. Have a nice dream." I was out.
Then something happened that was totally new from the other two endoscopy experiences. In the first two procedures, I went to sleep and woke up in the recovery room. This time (and I have no idea how long after I went to sleep that this happened), I could hear Dr. Adler talking to the technician. My eyes were closed and I was "asleep", but I could hear him explaining things about the procedure. In this semi-dream, I was writing down everything he said in a notebook. He would say something and I'd scribble it down. I know I wrote down a couple of pages worth of notes, but the only thing I clearly remember him saying was, "This looks like melanoma." In that state of semi-consciousness, I remember thinking, "Really? It's not pancreatic cancer? How interesting." I don't know how long I listened in, but I truly wish I could remember the entire conversation. I've got it written down somewhere!
I was in no pain. I couldn't feel anything. I was unaware that anything was down my throat. I could only hear Dr. Adler's voice (and sometimes the technician's voice), and then in a moment, I heard the nurse say, "Okay, Lisa, we're all done. You can wake up."
It was so real that I don't think it was a dream. I think I really could hear him talking. I didn't say anything to the nurses or to Linds, but when Dr. Adler came into the recovery room to talk to the two of us, I was not at all surprised when he said that he had found two "hypoechoic lesions" (hypoechoic literally means that it does not bounce back sound waves in an ultrasound very well, which generally indicates an unknown mass or lesion) that were "essentially on top of each other." The larger one measured 2.4cm and the smaller measured 1cm. He had taken three needle passes for biopsy, aspirating both lesions, and that "it looks like melanoma." I even asked him, "It doesn't look like pancreatic cancer?" and he said, "No, it looks like melanoma." After that, the nurse came in to get me ready for discharge and asked if the doctor had already talked to me about what he found and what he thought and I said, yes, and that I already knew what he was going to say because I had heard him talking during the procedure. She was fairly amazed and said that I must have been waking up a bit - and that if I ever had a procedure again to tell the sedation nurse of this experience, that they might have to "up" the dose to keep me under. I didn't see it as a disadvantage; in fact, I think it was a blessing. Hearing Dr. Adler's own voice say, "It looks like melanoma" before actually seeing him speak the words prepared me for what was coming. I wasn't surprised when he said what he did and I felt comfort knowing it was not an unknown cancer that I haven't dealt with before. Melanoma almost feels "normal" to me in a way. I know it's part of my life now, I know I'll have these wonderful melanoma specialists to help me every step of the journey, and I know I'll be okay. I feel blessed that it was found at such a small stage and that he referred to them as "lesions" and not "tumors". I already know that I can handle surgery and even radiation, if need be (and I hope not), but I'm not sure how I would handle chemotherapy if this had been a totally new type of cancer. Of course, the results are not all in. It could still be something else, but Dr. Adler was pretty convinced that this "looks like melanoma."
Now, more waiting... I'll keep you posted, as always. And thanks for the prayers. He was listening.
(Picture: Christmas 1972 - me with Troy and Dionne and our dog, Frankie - happy times!)