Posted on | September 5, 2014 | 22 Comments
So… rationally, I believe I’m okay. Irrationally, I am thinking through a plan of action in the off chance that Dr. Google is correct and I should avoid going into any light of any kind, ever.
On Tuesday, I spent the day on a military base with 40 of my favorite people. During the morning, I went to pull my hair up off my neck and felt something strange. I rubbed on it, pushed it, pulled it, and did everything short of try to pop it like a pimple and when I realized it was out of place, I began asking everyone else to do the same. It was decidedly a lump, though some called it a horn of pure meanness, and I decided I’d call my doctor the next day. While waiting for my 2:30 appointment on Wednesday, I googled possible scenarios… you know “Death and lumps,” and “swollen lymph nodes that equal total annihilation of life.” Just reasonable stuff. I became convinced that I had about six hours left to live which would just get me in to the doctor in time for her to sadly announce that if only I’d gotten there sooner there would have been a course of treatment.
In all seriousness, I wasn’t that worried. It was just a swollen lymph node. They’re pretty common when you’re sick.
Only I wasn’t sick.
So I went in and my doctor ran her hand over my neck and I saw the surprise in her eyes as she felt it again. And again. And a third time.
Then she sat down and asked me a string of questions about how long it had been there, if it hurt, and if there were anything I’d done that could have caused it.
With an apologetic smile, she told me she was sending me for an ultrasound.
“It’s non-invasive,” she smiled. “It’ll just give us a look at what’s going on, just in case. I don’t want you to worry, but I had a woman come in once with swollen lymphnodes and it was lymphoma.”
You know it’s a party when the doctor talks cancer.
So I went the next day for my ultrasound, still convinced it was nothing or everything, depending on the moment. The technician was kind and when I left, gave me the impression that everything was probably fine… though she didn’t give me results. I felt good. I felt like I had worried for nothing and went home and snuggled my child without a care in the world.
This morning, I felt better than I had all week. I was all smiles and jokes… I was going to live and that’s pretty great, right?
My phone rang at 9:00 am.
My doctor’s office was referring me to a general surgeon.
“The ultrasound showed enlargement… and things…” the nurse sort of stuttered as if she didn’t really know what the ultrasound showed, she was just reading a message left by the physician. “If you don’t hear from the surgeon by Tuesday, call us back, though, and we’ll get you in.”
And just like that, everything fell apart.
Rationally, I know I’m fine.
If only I lived in a rational world.