Nov. 27, 2013
It’s been 2 weeks since I first found out I have tumor growing in my lung.
It’s almost the size of a baseball.
I call her Hefty Helga.
Today, I have an appointment with my surgeon to discuss what we’re doing on Friday morning, the day I’m scheduled to take Helga out and get rid of her for good.
We’re an hour early.
This means more waiting time.
This also means more nerves.
I’m guessing the doctor had a really long day. Maybe some delays?
We’ve been here for 2 hours and 30 minutes.
No one is left in the waiting room. It’s just mom, dad and I.
I feel sick. I want to puke. I’m cold sweating.
Most of all, I’m impatient.
5 minutes later…
Oh, thats me.
Doc is on the phone, pacing the hallway.
We can only hear his heavy footsteps and some casual murmurs.
Something’s wrong. I feel it.
He enters the room, rubs his mustache and sighs.
” I can do this but…”
Well, the ship sunk.
“We’re sure it’s in your chest wall and depending on whether it’s malignant or locally malignant, I’d need to remove two to three ribs.”
Excuse me. WHAT!?
For the past two weeks, as far as I knew, I just had to remove the left lower lobe of my lung.
And I accepted that. But this…
This is news.
Mom’s in the corner crying and a ball forms in my throat. I’m choking it back and fighting with myself.
I will not cry. I’m gonna take this like a man.
“I can remove your mass for you, but there is a risk of misread pathology and me taking out ribs for no reason. Maybe going to a tertiary hospital would be better for your rare situation.”
I want it out now.
“I am more than capable of doing it but if you’re not comfortable with that, I would highly advise going somewhere that sees cases like yours very often.”
Why. Why. WHY.
It’s the day before Thanksgiving and no surgeon will be available.
Dammit. I’m more confused than ever.
As we walk towards the car dad looks at me. Worry fills his face, and he shakes his head.
“We’re right back where we started two weeks ago, huh?”