Where's the desk?

Today's Shout Outs:

Mandy S, Hunter, Michele H, Stephanie W, Lynn M, Heather J, Deena H, Heidi S

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Just a note before reading.  I'm good and my energy is good and life is good.

Dear friends here is a little bit of what was going through my head and a bit of perspective from Kevin during the early days of procedures and prognosis:


The Doctor's office was and is no stranger to us, but it wasn't a second home either.  We have 3 children all healthy and doing well, so we looked forward to those yearly well checks.  Our family has been blessed with very few accidents, illnesses, and/or traumas.  The only main event was when one summer I had to take Hunter to the ER for some stitches in his arm and then just over a year ago, we had to take Nate into an ER for a broken arm.  Not a bad record.  Neither Kevin nor I have had anything debilitating during our life time.

Soooo.... the point of this post is to describe what it was like for Kevin and myself during that first week at the Doctors' offices, procedure rooms, and hallways.  I'm assuming that most exam rooms are pretty much the same, basic walls, drawers, the exam table etc.  They are pretty uniform and standard; nothing to be scared of, but where business is done.

Up to this point, I didn't really think about life and death business being conducted in these rooms.  December 16th was the follow-up appointment to see my Gastroenterologist with the biopsy and endoscopy results.  To be honest, Kevin and I were both expecting something more serious than some simple tummy woes, but we had no idea to the extent of those given woes.

I had known something was "up" because after my endoscopy procedure, I remember a nurse mentioning something about the "Dr" going to see Kevin in the waiting room, but at the time he was waiting for me with Nate and Will and he didn't want to talk with him with the little kids around.  This obviously made me go hmmm... and especially since I didn't see the Dr. afterwards but had a definite follow up appointment scheduled for two days later, but... proof is in the pudding.

So back to that follow up appointment.  Kevin and I sat there waiting in the same exam room that we had our consult in the Monday prior.  I looked at Kevin...

I said, "Where's the desk?  Isn't there a special office? Its not possible that we could get really bad news without a nice big, fancy, shiny, some sort of walnuty desk, is there?", I continued... "It just wouldn't seem right."

Kevin looks at me like I'm nuts, but I continue on... "Movies and TV shows never show bad news scenes in an ordinary exam room! And if they do, they are much bigger than this one and fancier I'm sure!"

Then there is the knock and the Dr. enters.  He has a printed sheet of my lovely innards and essentially says, "There is no polite way of saying this, but you have cancer."

Kevin remembers these details much better than I.  I don't remember specific words, phrases, or even the tiniest details.  Some day, I'll tell you about my other "trauma" I experienced as a child and why I don't think I cope well with details.  Its another club that I was forced to join a long time ago, but don't get all worrying about it... I'm OK!

Well, the cubicle exam rooms continue and even our consult with the surgeon down in Seattle goes the same way... it just seems weird.  As we shuffle through my scans and procedures, its the same way.  At the end of our day in Seattle, I'm in the recovery area after my 2nd endoscopy.  This particular scope was going to be an ultrasound scope, but due to the results of the PET scan, it wasn't necessary so it was just a regular one.  Kevin and my sister are out in the waiting area when the surgeon that we were consulting with comes out with the official PET scan results.

What Kevin remembers is the Joe Schmoes sitting a few seats over and people waiting around for their friends and family members.  Apparently there is a reader board with names on it that lists the varying stages of their procedures.  He said it was kind of like an airport reader board - boarding, take off, landing, etc.

Anyway, back to the surgeon.  He comes in and starts saying that they are sorry... surgery isn't an option...stage 4....sorry there isn't anything we can do...all of this in the waiting room, everyone sitting around hoping their loved one is doing well...  Come to find out as Kevin and Eden made their way towards me in the recovery room the young GI who gave me the endoscopy pointed out the "consult room".  This room did have overstuffed leather furniture, plants, a fish tank, etc.  I guess that movie set does exist, they just don't use it.

Again, the same thing when we met with my oncologist, but at this point I think we were used to it or at least numb to it.  It was in that room that our Christmas plans crumbled around us.  We had started with Plan A, moved to Plan B, and left there with Plan C which then eventually turned into Plan D. Life and death all in a plain old exam room...

Until next time.

Katie