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3:00p

I spent the morning alternating between resting and cleaning the motorhome and thinking about everything. Dr E did his job of letting me know the worse case scenario. Dr H was much more positive than his colleague.

“Am I going to lose my leg?”

“Nooo. Your not gonna lose your leg.”

“I was told I would be crippled if the remaining tumor was removed.”

“You will walk. You might be weak. You might need a cane and have trouble with stairs. You might have a limp. But your gonna walk.”

“So what is the prognosis?”

“Your not gonna die from a tumor in your butt.”

And those answers, related to my family across the country, has given Dr H the name “House” and a bid at sainthood. Other questions posed such as “What is the name?” and “What form of treatment comes first?” were not answered. The pathology is not completed yet. (?!) Everything still hinges on that report. The type of sarcoma, (if it IS a sarcoma) the grade and stage of the tumor and if it has truly not spread will determine the course of action.

The first step, however, has been made in the direction of the OHSU MRI lab. Next Tuesday night (another week’s wait) at 8:30p (yes, late at night) I get shoved down that tube for the second time in my life. Oh, how I hate that tube. The last time it took them three tries at entombing me in that contraption before they put me under. They said the screaming was bad for business. I relayed my failure to the Wonderful Wizard of OHS and with a chuckle he said I could have an Open MRI. That turned out too hard to schedule and get the results back to the wizard in the same day. Conscious Sedation would require a daytime slot with a specialist. They were willing to do this also, but that would mean that Dan miss two days on the job. So I told them I would have to cowboy-up and take the normal route down the yellow brick road. I will be going in feet first and since it’s my other brain they are scanning, my head will be at the edge of the tube and shouldn’t be restrained. That should help. That and the Valium they have called into my pharmacy. And the fact that an MRI is most likely not the only horrendous thing that is going to happen to me in the near future. Kelli, my dear sweet Kelli, had this advise: “When your in the tube, mom, pretend that it is one of us. Pretend that it is Brandi, or Jaymi, or Robbie in there and how you would comfort them. Then hear those words in your own mother’s voice.” Lord, how I love that girl!

So, the MRI at 8:30p on Tuesday and then Wednesday morning at 7:40a, I see House again for the results. Hopefully by then the pathology report will be completed. We can go up to Portland after work on Tuesday. Since the scan will take 90 minutes (assuming I don’t cause any delay with silliness) we will stay over in a motel close by instead of driving across town so late to Dan’s brothers house just to return by the early morning appointment. In all likelihood, Dan can be back on the job by noon Wednesday.

When asked if he thought it could be Rhabdomyosarcoma, Dr H said that it wasn’t likely. “You don’t fit the age profile.” We asked him for more words to look up then, and he shook his head. I know the doctors hate the internet in the hands of their patients. “Be careful what you read or it will scare the hell out of you.”

“We’re already scared. We’ve had a month to read.”

Sitting there in the office of the Great Wizard, on the big Emerald Hill where the world of OHS was reality, I wondered, not for the first time, if I could click my heels together three times and have it all be a dream.

OK, what if I click them four times?

What if I never stop clicking?

Seems I don’t have the right shoes.

Tomorrow, maybe I will go to the outlet mall and see if anyone has a pair of shiny red leather flats. Size 10. If not, I might have to track down a witch and sit on her. I’ll let ya know.