Finding it
At the end of the depression consultation, I asked quickly if he could renew my contraceptive prescription, something most doctors just do without a second thought (in my experience anyway). This one, regardless of the fact that I had already been in his office for over twenty minutes, took the time to take my blood pressure (high – maybe because I had just finished an emotional time confessing I was depressed?) and listen to my heart, and at this point probably comes the turning point of my life. I have a slight heart murmur – it’s barely noticeable. Most doctors don’t notice it. In fact, the last doctor to notice it was the last one to diagnose me with depression back in 2000. Back then, I had an echocardiogram, had it all checked out, and it was fine, no dramas. So when this GP decided that I couldn’t have my pill prescription until he had checked it all out, I must admit I was a bit irritated. This stupid murmur had been checked out three years ago, it was fine then, what was the production about this time. Thankfully, he ignored me, and ordered another echocardiogram… and a chest x-ray.
So, I toddled along to the x-ray place, still a little put out, and had my chest x-ray (the echo was booked for the week after), and was told that it would take about an hour before I could pick up the actual x-ray results. So I went to the movies (alone) to go see Chicago. I enjoyed the film – not as much as the theatre production, but it was well done. I turned my mobile phone back on after the film and listened to my voice messages. One was from the x-ray place saying that there had been a problem, and could I come back and do the x-ray again? I assumed that this meant that something had gone wrong with my x-ray, that the films hadn’t turned out or something, so I returned quite unconcernedly. Once I got there, I was told they wanted to do a CT scan. I didn’t really think about this… didn’t ask why, was something wrong, just really went along with the flow. (Although I was a little put out because a CT scan involves an injection of dye… little did I know how well I would become accustomed to injections!)
I think I had a good book with me, because I was quite happy sitting in the waiting room waiting for all the results to be ready. I had an appointment at the GP’s that afternoon to discuss the x-ray (and now I guess the CT scan), and it looked like I was going to be late. I asked the x-ray staff to give the doctor’s surgery a call, which they did, and then the radiologist called me in.
He told me that it was very important that I go and see my GP that afternoon, no matter how late it all was. He said he had called my GP, who was expecting me. I could tell that something was serious, and that he was trying to work out whether or not he should tell me what was wrong, and in the end, he decided it was more important that I realise how serious this all was, rather than waiting for the ‘proper’ person (ie my GP who had ordered the tests) to tell me.
He said that they had found a large ‘mass’ in my chest. Not growing on anything, just in my chest. He said it was most likely benign, probably benign, every chance that it was benign, but that it still had to be checked out. They say ignorance is bliss, and not understanding that ‘mass’ meant tumour (or that ‘tumour’ often meant cancer) or that benign was really the opposite of cancerous, meant that I accepted all of this fairly calmly.
I went back to the GP, and it was obvious that he wasn’t really sure how to tell me what he had to tell me. I think I made it a bit easier (for him at least) and said “Don’t worry, the radiologist already told me about the mass”. Which made it easier for him, but was a bit of a shock for me when he started using the term tumour fairly liberally. It suddenly hit me that hey, this was serious. To be honest, my first thought was one entirely based on vanity. I had (have?) great breasts and a great décolletage, and in true Jessie-style, I showed it off quite a bit. To suddenly realise that this stupid mass or tumour or whatever the hell it was would need to be gotten rid of meant that I would probably wind up with a scar on my chest. How annoying is annoying! A scar on my great chest! What a calamity! Such a vain person I am (was? nah, probably still am…) It started getting serious very quickly when he told me to call my mother and that yes, she should probably come down to Brisbane. He made some calls to find a cardio-thoracic surgeon, and made me an appointment with a Dr Robert Tam for the following Tuesday (it was currently a Thursday). Mama was shocked at the news, and she and Dave (my stepdad, her husband) said they would be there as soon as possible.
To be honest, I think I was in shock. I had no real idea what was going on, certainly didn’t understand that there was a real possibility that this thing was cancerous, and I definitely had no idea what was ahead of me (thank goodness, I think). I had a usual Thursday night commitment, to play chess with a group of people, who I wasn’t that close to at the time, but who have come to be really good friends. I went. I told them reasonably unconcernedly (a bit uncertainly, but fairly matter-of-factly) that they had found a tumour, and it’s Regina’s reaction that I remember most. She just looked at me, and said “How are you dealing with it? You just seem to be taking it so calmly.” I think it was then I realised quite how serious this could become.
I spent a lot of that night looking at my hair. I had lovely long thick hair, and about the only thing I knew about cancer is that chemotherapy makes you lose your hair. So, again, my whole focus was on the vanity thing – I was maybe going to lose my super chest and now maybe my hair. I don’t think I was prepared or emotionally equipped to start thinking that there was also this whole potential death thing – but then again, I couldn’t say the word cancer, not in my head, and certainly not aloud.
So, I toddled along to the x-ray place, still a little put out, and had my chest x-ray (the echo was booked for the week after), and was told that it would take about an hour before I could pick up the actual x-ray results. So I went to the movies (alone) to go see Chicago. I enjoyed the film – not as much as the theatre production, but it was well done. I turned my mobile phone back on after the film and listened to my voice messages. One was from the x-ray place saying that there had been a problem, and could I come back and do the x-ray again? I assumed that this meant that something had gone wrong with my x-ray, that the films hadn’t turned out or something, so I returned quite unconcernedly. Once I got there, I was told they wanted to do a CT scan. I didn’t really think about this… didn’t ask why, was something wrong, just really went along with the flow. (Although I was a little put out because a CT scan involves an injection of dye… little did I know how well I would become accustomed to injections!)
I think I had a good book with me, because I was quite happy sitting in the waiting room waiting for all the results to be ready. I had an appointment at the GP’s that afternoon to discuss the x-ray (and now I guess the CT scan), and it looked like I was going to be late. I asked the x-ray staff to give the doctor’s surgery a call, which they did, and then the radiologist called me in.
He told me that it was very important that I go and see my GP that afternoon, no matter how late it all was. He said he had called my GP, who was expecting me. I could tell that something was serious, and that he was trying to work out whether or not he should tell me what was wrong, and in the end, he decided it was more important that I realise how serious this all was, rather than waiting for the ‘proper’ person (ie my GP who had ordered the tests) to tell me.
He said that they had found a large ‘mass’ in my chest. Not growing on anything, just in my chest. He said it was most likely benign, probably benign, every chance that it was benign, but that it still had to be checked out. They say ignorance is bliss, and not understanding that ‘mass’ meant tumour (or that ‘tumour’ often meant cancer) or that benign was really the opposite of cancerous, meant that I accepted all of this fairly calmly.
I went back to the GP, and it was obvious that he wasn’t really sure how to tell me what he had to tell me. I think I made it a bit easier (for him at least) and said “Don’t worry, the radiologist already told me about the mass”. Which made it easier for him, but was a bit of a shock for me when he started using the term tumour fairly liberally. It suddenly hit me that hey, this was serious. To be honest, my first thought was one entirely based on vanity. I had (have?) great breasts and a great décolletage, and in true Jessie-style, I showed it off quite a bit. To suddenly realise that this stupid mass or tumour or whatever the hell it was would need to be gotten rid of meant that I would probably wind up with a scar on my chest. How annoying is annoying! A scar on my great chest! What a calamity! Such a vain person I am (was? nah, probably still am…) It started getting serious very quickly when he told me to call my mother and that yes, she should probably come down to Brisbane. He made some calls to find a cardio-thoracic surgeon, and made me an appointment with a Dr Robert Tam for the following Tuesday (it was currently a Thursday). Mama was shocked at the news, and she and Dave (my stepdad, her husband) said they would be there as soon as possible.
To be honest, I think I was in shock. I had no real idea what was going on, certainly didn’t understand that there was a real possibility that this thing was cancerous, and I definitely had no idea what was ahead of me (thank goodness, I think). I had a usual Thursday night commitment, to play chess with a group of people, who I wasn’t that close to at the time, but who have come to be really good friends. I went. I told them reasonably unconcernedly (a bit uncertainly, but fairly matter-of-factly) that they had found a tumour, and it’s Regina’s reaction that I remember most. She just looked at me, and said “How are you dealing with it? You just seem to be taking it so calmly.” I think it was then I realised quite how serious this could become.
I spent a lot of that night looking at my hair. I had lovely long thick hair, and about the only thing I knew about cancer is that chemotherapy makes you lose your hair. So, again, my whole focus was on the vanity thing – I was maybe going to lose my super chest and now maybe my hair. I don’t think I was prepared or emotionally equipped to start thinking that there was also this whole potential death thing – but then again, I couldn’t say the word cancer, not in my head, and certainly not aloud.
posted by Jessie at 12:21 pm
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