I turned my car around, trying to remember where the hell the local hospital was, even though I had driven past it millions of times. I tried to look it up on my iPhone, but I was so upset, that I simply just pulled into a parking lot and called my mom and my husband. I cried and I cried. I didn't know what to do or what was happening to me. I felt like I had sat there for an eternity.
I ended up being late to my CT appointment. When I arrived, the doctor was waiting for me in the radiology laboratory. She gave me a very forced and sterile hug and introduced me to the nurse and staff who were going to give me the scan. She pat my shoulder, in a weak attempt to be compassionate, and said, "If I had to have any cancer, it would be Hodgkin's. Everything is going to be fine." I nodded, but in my head I was screaming, "YOU THINK IT'S GOING TO BE FINE?! IT'S NOT FINE!! I AM NOT OKAY!" She handed me a lunch coupon for the hospital cafeteria and returned to the university clinic.
I filled out some paperwork at the radiology from desk and sat down, waiting for the staff to call me back. I felt like everyone in the waiting area was watching me as I held back sobs and tried to keep my cool. Soon, they called my name and I was escorted into a changing room. They handed me one of those very thin, powder blue hospital gowns and told to remove any clothing above my waist. I walked into a changing stall and began to remove my clothing. The intensity of the day's events ebbed and flowed out of my conscious mind, setting me into a viscious cycle of grief and numb automation.
I feared the results of the scan and my mind kept repeating all of the infinite possibilities: Maybe it was a mistake? Maybe someone else's chest X-ray had my name on it. Yes, that's it. It must be a mistake. But how could it be? I have this lump. That is definitely not normal. Oh god, what if it IS cancer?...
I started to feel panicked and the room was spinning, but I was able to calm myself, remembering the breathing exercises from my yoga class. I spoke to myself, "Long audible breaths, let go of judgment and fear". I kept repeating this mantra to myself as I took several long, audible breaths from my nose. I placed my palms on the wall, trying give myself a sense of place and presence. I kept feeling the emotions flood in and out with my breath and I fought back the urge to start ripping the stupid scratchy hospital gown apart. I was unaware that I was in the stall for several minutes and soon the nurse came to check on me. I hurried into my hospital gown and put my glasses, watch, wallet and clothing into a locker. The CT room was very cold, bright and sterile. I noticed a poster of a clown with an inlay inspirational paragraph about humor and laughter were on the ceiling. (Why anyone would put a poster of a clown on the ceiling is beyond me.) The staff told me to lie on scan's counter and explained that they would be starting an IV. UGH, I hate needles! I thought to myself, in an almost childish manner, "I've already been pricked a jillion times today! This is so unfair!"
I laid back on the counter and the nurse began smacking my left arm, looking for veins. I tried hard to breathe and stay calm, but feelings of sheer injustice kept welling up within me and I could not hold back tears. My mind was scrambling. I'm only 24, I'm young. Why do I need this? This must be a dream. The staff were speaking to me, but my inner monologue overshadowed any of their attempts to calm me and make me feel better. I heard faintly, "you should experience a warm feeling now as we inject the dye". Suddenly, my body felt like it just entered a stifling sauna and the arm with the IV felt like it was on fire. My face was flushed and I was sweating. A warm feeling? That was an understatement! Soon the whole counter shifted inward and I was instructed to lift my arms since they started the IV in my arm and not in my hand. The machine whirred and throttled forward; the great grey metal donut reached my neck and bellowed, "Breathe in. Hold your breath." The counter suddenly shifted backwards, systematically shifting me out of the circular machine as I held back the air in my lungs.
Once the scan was over, they removed my IV and I changed back into my clothes. They discharged me and told me that I could pick up the films and results later. I got into my car and called my parents. We agreed that they would come down and take me back to my hometown. There was no way that I could get a good evaluation of my illness where I was living. My doctor at the university clinic called me and asked me to come back and talk with her. When I arrived, I was escorted into her back office. She began explaining my disease and what to expect, but I took absolutely nothing in. After our meeting, I was given a written referral for an oncologist and a letter needed for medical leave.
When I got home, I walked upstairs and David was waiting for me. I just shook my head, as if I was in disbelief; tears streaming down my face. I whispered, "They think I have cancer". His lip quivered and his jaw hardened, holding back tears. He opened his arms, inviting me in for an embrace and wrapped them around me. I buried my face in his chest as he rocked me side to side. There was nothing that could be said to take this away or make it better.
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