Sis and grandson Bo - Christmas '08
Clickety, clickety back to the top. Her MRI shows no signs of tumor pressure on any nerves, or any bone loss that would lead to a collapse. But no real explanation as to the cause of the back pain. The next week, she starts having nausea; a little at first and then worsening as the week goes along. Down we go again as we wait for an ultrasound of her gallbladder ordered by the gastroenterologist looking for possible spread of the cancer. Up we go when we find her gallbladder is full of gallstones and not cancer. We teeter at the top again, wondering, worrying. Will they be able to do the bellybutton surgery since she has the mesh in her abdomen as a result of the trans flap surgery? If they can’t do the bellybutton surgery, will her heart take the stress of abdominal surgery? If they do the abdominal surgery will she be out of the hospital in time for her monthly bone scan, liver studies, and chemo. If she misses a dose of the chemo she’s out of the trial.
I sit and listen as she schedules pre-op hospital visit, pre-op visit with the cardiologist, bone scans, liver studies and chemo—timing it all so the puzzle pieces of surgery, scan and chemo fit perfectly. Just as she sits back after the last phone call the phone rings—the surgeon has to change the surgery date. I lose it. I’m screaming at the pure thoughtlessness of these clowns and why doesn’t she go see people that have more decency than to call up and change dates after they know what you have to go through juggling all the dates and tests and chemo. She just shrugs and says, “People get their appointments shifted around for me all the time.” And she starts her calling and scheduling all over again.
On her surgery date, we ride to the hospital, hoping for the bellybutton surgery. Her daughters and best friend show up, along with about every nurse in the hospital. Pretty soon pre-op is rolling with laughter as they all tell stories about my sister. She’s been a nurse for many years and knows everyone. Then come the hugs as they take her away. While we wait we wander aimlessly around the hospital snack shop and gift shop. In the gift shop are constant reminders of breast cancer. Pink ribbons, pink pens, pink hats and scarves. I’ve developed a love-hate relationship with pink. I buy another pink ribbon. As we walk into the waiting area, we see her surgeon coming toward us. Please, please, please…
To be continued…
