Here a Doc, there a Doc, Everywhere a Doc Doc
Susan and I were scheduled to go to Europe in June. We would start in Dublin, fly on RyanAir (possibly the worst airline I have ever flown on) to London and then take the EuroStar (a great train ride!) through the Chunnel to Paris before flying back to Dublin for Bloomsday. A grand trip: no cares, no problems. We worked on the itinerary together: plays in Dublin (the Abbey Theatre for Pygmalion, the Gaiety for The Beauty Queen of Lehane, and the Gate for Cat on a hot Tin Roof) and in London (Wicked in the west end, Shakespeare at the Globe and School for Scandal). Paris was all museums and dining. And then, I went for a regularly-scheduled visit to see my PCP. I made the mistake of coughing.
Dr. Atlas, noticing the cough, schedules me for a chest X-Ray to see if I have a bronchial problem. That Friday, he calls me. With many apologies, he tells me the X-Ray tech has called his attention to a small shadow on the X-Ray, on my right lung. He has scheduled me, that day, to see a pulmonologist (new specialty for me!), Dr. Rafael Santiago. The pulmonologist schedules me for an MRI (lungs to lower abdomen). The MRI detects something (what we did not know) on the upper node of my right lung. He shows it me on the film: looks much like a jelly fish dripping down the lung.
We go to Europe
I ask if we should cancel the trip to Europe and he says no: Early days, plenty of time. Go, go, enjoy yourselves. Dr. Atlas had said the same thing. And so, we fly to Europe and have a great time for three weeks. After Paris, we fly back to Dublin for Bloomsday and, the next morning, across the North Atlantic to Chicago and then home to San Antonio.
Much activity with the medical profession await my return. Among the first things I did was notify the English Department that I could not teach my graduate poetry class that was scheduled to begin in early July, nor my fall semester class. I would have to miss too many classes, I assumed, rightly as it turned out, for that to be fair to my students.
Another Test
At 6 a.m., the Monday after we had returned from Europe, I checked into Stone Oak Methodist Hospital for a “fine needle aspiration biopsy.” Because of the location of the suspicious “thing” growing in my lung, the doctor had to go in around my collar bone from the back and attempt to find whatever it was to extract a sample for biopsy. I was in a CTscan machine the whole time he worked. It took a week to get the results: inconclusive. Later, I have a lung function test that shows my lungs are working well.
The next step is a bronchoscopy. Back at Stone Oak Methodist. My pulmonologist does this one himself. This one, I am asleep for. He pushes an instrument down my throat and into my lung where he scoops out samples. Results: still not conclusive, but probably cancerous.
The next step? a PetScan. The PetScan, after the patient drinks some treated crap, lights up in areas where there is evidence of excessive sugar being used by “something.” That “something” is almost always active cancer cells. I have two such spots: one in my right lung and one in the lymph node between the two lungs. So, I finally have a concrete diagnosis: lung cancer that has spread to the lymph node. I had had two very good friends with that diagnosis: Carla Saenz and Cynthia Harper. Both had died within three months of the diagnosis. So, I am more than a little bit frightened.
The Two ONC Docs
My pulmonologist, in consultation with my PCP, refers me to two oncologists at the START Center who will work as a team: my chemotherapy oncologist (Doc Onc1) will be the lead oncologist for the treatments and my radiation oncologist (Doc Onc2) will take care of targeted radiation therapy. Both of them have all of the tests (MRIs, X-Rays, CTscans, biopsies, PetScan) on their computer screens. I am, as it turns out, a Stage 3 cancer patient because the bad ju-ju has spread to my lymph node. BUT, and this is important, my prognosis is and remains positive.
More later.
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