I hold certain beliefs which cannot be altered:
- Podcasts are life.
- Any coffee that is not dark roast is just crap.
- No one sings Sinatra better than Sinatra, except Judy Garland.
- The eighties television show Bosom Buddies was underrated and remains hilarious.
- The "O Captain, My Captain!" scene from Dead Poets' Society is the best scene ever put to film.
- Dick Van Dyke is an American treasure.
- I am here to help others, and have to choose to rise above a lot of stuff and "Keep A'Goin," (and ask for help myself when I need it, but I'm still working on that part).
- Perhaps no one is in to weblogs anymore but I need to write in one anyway.
And so even though I have been having a harder time than any other year in my life, I try to just keep going. If I stay "negative" for too long, I find it hard to climb out of it, and so I try to choose to view things with peace. Sometimes that works, but sometimes panic takes over. This is truly the most difficult year I've had with anxiety, for sure. I try to stay in the present moment as I've written about before, to try not to let the worry and fear take over.
I am not always successful. As you remember if you read my previous post, I freaked out a little bit when I was told I needed a thyroid biopsy. That was not helped by the fact that I Googled thyroid cancer and discovered I legit have every symptom. The thyroid pushing on my throat would explain why I'm still in pain from the surgery (but so would the fact that it could take many months to heal).
However, once I got to the biopsy, oddly enough, I felt better. That morning, I received my mammogram results and was told I was all good. So that's one fear, sorted.
You guys, the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania does not screw around. They have a building bigger than the town I live in dedicated to radiology and biopsies. Though Thyroid challenges have their own floor in the building, I was directed to walk a city block within the main building to the Radiology check in.
I gave my name and birthday for the first of 28 times, and they gave me a pager that looked like I was waiting for a table at Chile's or Red Lobster, except this restaurant had a blue motif and no food. I sat down and about 45 seconds later, my restaurant pager went off to say my table was ready except it was a check in lane. I walked to number eight, said my birthday and name again, signed some forms, held my wrist out so the attendant could put a bracelet on it with my name and birthday and a bar code. She then handed me a full page of stickers with my name and birthday.
I thought about telling her I didn't want the responsibility of carrying that sheet around in case I lost it, but instead I sat down. After two minutes, another attendant came out and called my name, "Van Avver?" I didn't bother to tell her it's pronounced "Vanna ver," rather I walked over to her and we made small talk as we walked down a corridor that was, I am not even kidding here, the length of two city blocks.
She took me to a waiting room. I really had to go to the bathroom. When would the time be right to tell them that? I sat there for a few minutes. HGTV played on the big television. I used to be a friend of television, but we really don't talk much anymore. I found my earbuds in my purse, but by the time I untangled them, another person came to get me. This was my "tech" that would be in the room with me as I went through the biopsy. She walked me to another room, and told me one of the doctors would be in.
After she took my sheet of Erica Vanaver stickers, I asked her if I had time to go to the bathroom, and she said yes, and I was like a kid with a hall pass. I went back into my designated waiting room, and the doctor came in. I was confused if she was "THE" doctor or just one of the doctors, but I didn't ask because it didn't matter. She explained what they would do and why they were doing it. I explained that I have trouble lying down without coughing and choking. She said this was no problem, they could prop the table up.
Then I signed a bunch more forms. Then she left, and the tech came back, and brought me to the room in which I would have the biopsy. We sat and talked, and sat and talked, and sat and talked, and then finally someone knocked on the door and said the pathologist was running behind and that they were sending someone else. What's a pathologist, you ask? A pathologist looks at the cells that they pull during the biopsy to see if they are good enough samples to test from. So I guess that's kind of important.
About a half an hour later, everyone was finally in the room, and I felt like i was at an extremely odd cocktail party. I assumed that I would soon be having a dream wherein I was at Chili's but I couldn't get to my table because there were a bunch of doctors and techs sitting there, and I had to walk a city block to find out they were out of food.
The actual doctor that would do the procedure introduced himself to me, and reassured me, and asked if I had questions, and once again told me what would be happening. Then everyone was ready to begin and they were all really happy about it. Which is good, you know, you need a medical team that likes what they do. They said they would likely have to go in four different times, but they would do two and then check the first two to see if more were needed. The tech gave me a blue stress ball to hold on to while they did their thing.
They tilted my head, cleaned my neck, sprayed some really freezing cold stuff on it so that I wouldn't feel the needle, and the doctor said as I tried to center myself, "Okay, let's get some cells!"
I felt the needle but I didn't say anything because I wanted to get it over with. They did their thing with collecting cells and I felt the pain from my neck to my ear. I focused on peace, on healing, on staying centered, on Angels, on whatever I could to stay present enough not to freak out or cry.
After they finished with the second needle, the doctor told me I did great (I am quite good at sitting propped up with my neck turned) and that they were going to go check the cells. I had another talk with the tech wherein I shared how freakin much it had hurt except freakin wasn't the word I used, and she laughed in sympathy and echoed the doctor's sentiments that I did great. A few minutes later, the doctor came out and said the cells they got were good, I did great, I was free to go, and my doctor would be in touch by the middle of the week.
I was relieved when it was over, no less worried about what it might be, but relieved. I left the room feeling a tremendous appreciation and even love for the techs and doctors that had helped me this day, and as I walked the two city blocks, I witnessed other attendants helping other patients, thinking how amazing it was that everybody had their own. Ever single person that walked in to radiology had their own team.
I found myself back out in the radiology waiting room. I looked around at people in all stages of sickness and health, fear and peace. I saw a man with one leg walking on crutches. I saw an older woman in a wheelchair being helped by her family. I saw people drinking coffee, people resting in their chairs, people laughing and talking, and people frustrated.
As they say on my favorite podcast, I don't have a strong power out for this, but I guess what I'm saying is, I don't want to complain or stay stuck in fear anymore. I know that I've been through a lot this year, but there's a lot to be grateful for, too. There's more to get through, but I'll get through it. And just because I am saying I don't want to complain doesn't mean I won't vent. I used to encourage my clients to preface any complaint or vent with the words, "I am saying this to release it." I have to remember to do that more, so I won't get stuck in the fear.
Because who needs that?
Like I said before, one moment at a time.
PS - I added some writing and editing services on to the donation page, as well as some reading options. Click here.
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