All the empty things disguised as me

As I arrive in Oregon, I drive back to the Manor with no small amount of trepidation, wondering what UHA destroyed in his psychoticness. Luckily, he “only” stole a bunch of stuff and broke some things, but nothing major has been destroyed. I bake strudel for the neighbors who had to deal with him and who kept an eye on my place, and they assure me that none of the clusterfuck was my fault.

The next day, I go for my appointment with Betsy, and my hopes are dashed, yet again.

Betsy: So we’ll do a bonescan and some x-rays.

Me: But x-rays won’t show stuff like bulging or herniated discs, right?

Betsy: True, but insurance won’t approve anything else. I’ll send you to physical therapy.

Me: But…what’s the point of PT if I can’t tell them what’s wrong?

Betsy: Sometimes PT can help pinpoint or narrow down what the problem is.

Really? And do we know this insurance thing for a fact, or is Betsy just trying to keep costs down? I look into DIY MRI places, and in Oregon, an MRI is around $1500 each, and I have no idea what the actual issue might be. Luckily, I see Cancerchick Cori at a spa retreat in New Mexico a couple of weeks later, and lo and behold, she Has Ideas.

Cori: Dan can write you a referral! Get all the MRIs when you’re in Illinois!

Me: How much are they?

Cori: I’ll have his office person email the price lists.

Dan being her husband, a chiropractor, and sure enough, each MRI is only about $300.

Me: I’m doing ALL OF THEM! Lumbar, thoracic, cervical, shoulder.

Cori: Uhh, each one takes about an hour.

Me: Fine! I’ll have a cocktail beforehand, and then I’ll just be dozing.

Cori: Dan says, don’t do thoracic – nothing ever shows up on that one.

Me: Okay, I’ll just do the rest.

I spend our spa retreat weekend NOT going on the hikes that Cori goes on, because I can barely walk, but I do get a private lesson in rifle shooting, where I am a total sniper, even though I’ve never shot a rifle before. Now, I’m not saying I have a gun and will take out anyone who fucks with me….but I have a gun and will take you out if you fuck with me.

When I get back to Oregon, I message Betsy yet again, telling her that the pain is getting worse, that I can’t stand the length of time needed to do anything in the kitchen AT ALL, and that I almost cancelled my out of town trip because it’s so bad. Which is true – I only didn’t because I figured a spa retreat with hot pools and massage is the only kind of trip I can take at this point. The airport was a problem though- so hard to walk that I thought, my god, I’m going to have to be one of those people pushing people aside to get a scooter! And getting a handicapped parking sticker, whereby people will glare at me because I don’t LOOK disabled (except when I’m walking slowly, hunched over in pain), and I’ll tell them to fuck right off. Awesome.

Betsy tells me that she finally put in a referral for a hip MRI – just the hip, based on a random guess because the hip hurts all of the time while the back is more sporadic. So the next Monday, I have the hip MRI in Silverton, and then get the red-eye that night to go to Illinois to help my mom with final packing and moving, and so I’ve booked my trifecta of MRIs for the next Tuesday. I have this fleeting thought – what if nothing shows up? What if I look like a total fraud? Like I have phantom pains but nothing is physically wrong? Man, would I ever feel like a dumbass.

I go for the hip MRI in Oregon. FINALLY. I try to read the demeanor of the tech doing the scan: is that a look of sympathy? Of impending doom? Hmm. Betsy later messages me through the patient portal to tell me she doesn’t have results yet, probably on Tuesday. On Tuesday I’m in IL, getting my other MRIs done.  I walk out and check the patient portal. Lo, a message from Betsy!

(Now, if I were a horrible person, I’d leave things here as a cliffhanger until next season. But I’m not, so, off we go.)

Betsy: I have the results from the hip MRI, and it looks like you do have a torn labrum in the hip. Buttherearesomeotherthingsthatareconcerningsocanyoucomeintoseemetoday?

I read that whole second part just as I imagine she wrote it, rapidly and all squished together, when you’re trying to stuff in bad news unnoticed.

Wait. Say what? “Something concerning”????

Me: Umm, that sounds worrisome. I’m in Illinois and won’t be back in Oregon until next week. What’s going on?

Betsy: You have a very large cyst on the left side of your abdomen near your ovary, this could be the cause of any lower back pain- as it is big enough to push backward and press on nerves, etc.

Me:…..

Betsy: I’m sending you a referral to a gynecological oncologist – it needs to come out as it is too large. I am not worried but always act quickly on any abnormal findings.

A mass. Large. Nerves. Pain. A LARGE MASS.

WHAT THE FUCK, BETSY.

I look at the report she sends. “This cyst measures 9.7” x 6.9 by 8.2 cm. Differential certainly includes an ovarian tumor.”

What. The. Everloving. Fuck. A mass the size of a grapefruit floating around in my pelvic region. That’s probably been there for the PAST YEAR, growing away, merrily. While Betsy has been dismissing my debilitating pain as “oh, just a joint thing. I’m not worried!”

I call Cori.  Our conversation consists of a lot of “fucking Betsy!!” and “it has to be a cyst” and promises to St. Elizabeth of Hungary that if she comes through on this and makes it a cyst, I’ll name a jam after her. And more:

Me: Cori, what if I turn into a religious nutball? What THEN?

Cori: It won’t happen, but if it does, at least swear fealty to St. Elizabeth.

Me: I know, I could have a whole line of religious jams! All the forgotten saints: St. Elizabeth of Hungary, St. Cornelius. There’s a Cornelius, right?

Cori: Hell yes.

Me: I just got an amazing 1890 piano from the nicest people in Salem. If this is cancer, first, I can guarantee I’ll be the most bitter and rageful person this world has ever seen. Then, I’m going to play haunting and lugubrious melodies at 2AM, like a tragic heroine of yore. Or maybe I’m thinking of the Haunted Mansion at DisneyWorld. Whatever, close enough.

Cori: Excellent idea.

Me: And I’ll wear even more shirts, hats, etc. that say “fuck” on them.  Snarl at people while driving and tell them to fuck off. Okay so it seems like a lot of these are things I do already. I may have to work on this list.

Cori: Hey, it’s a work in progress.

Me: I’m going to be fighting with large people at Walmart for the scootypuffs.

Cori: You don’t shop at Walmart.

Me: But still. The point stands.

Cori: Uhh, no it doesn’t?

Me: Whatever.  Hey, maybe it could be a new reality tv show! Scooter Wars.

Cori must have lost her phone connection, because the line goes dead. Oh well.

Later, I get the results from the Illinois MRIs, which show:

Shoulder: oh look, a shoulder/labral tear

Cervical: a synovial cyst pressing against nerves

Lumbar: bulging discs, severe facet osteoarthritis, and OH LOOK IT’S THE BORG

Yes, the mass shows up on this MRI as well. Since the imaging place also uploads the actual scans, Cori and I spend a lot of time studying and dissecting them.

Me: If I compare it to pictures of ovarian tumors, it looks like a malignancy. See? There’s….texture, or something.

Cori: But it seems smooth and round, so that’s good.

Me: Which blob is it exactly? I’m assuming it’s the big white blob.

Cori: I think so? Let me ask Julian.

Julian is Cori’s son, who I (ahem) helped with his medical school applications, and he is now (ahem) a doctor.

Cori: Julian says we’re looking at the bladder.

Me: Of course we are. How can anyone ever tell what anything is on these??

Cori: I have no idea. It all looks the same to me.

Me: If the mass lights up, what are those are areas that are lit up, like in the lungs? Are those….lung masses??

Cori: I think fluid lights up. Maybe.

We give up, at least for the night.

In the meantime, I head back to my mom’s place with cookies, cannoli, and booze. I know she’s going to start once I walk in the door, asking why I bought so much stuff when we’re trying to pack up everything, so I preempt her.

Me: Mom, before you say anything, I got my results and I have a huge cyst that needs surgery so we need booze and cookies and that’s all there is to it.

That’s the extent of what I tell my mom, because really, it could be true. And the thing is, when you have a lot to deal with yourself, you just don’t have the mental energy to console other people.

Normal Brother gets to town the next night, and I tell him what’s going on, rather unceremoniously as we’re picking up pizza in town.

Me: Let’s get a drink at the bar while they’re packing up our pizza.

NB: We can have a drink at mom’s, we might as well get goin….

Me: I might have cancer again.

NB: So, let’s have a drink at the bar!

NB: And, you couldn’t wait until we were somewhere in Missouri to tell me this?

Me: I thought about it, but then you’d be a captive audience and it might put a damper on our epic Rt. 66 road trip.

NB: Oh, and we wouldn’t want THAT to happen.

Me: Exactly!

The next day, I go for my final bike ride on the bucolic country roads of Huntley. The ride out is lovely. Fast, quiet, peaceful. I had checked the weather and there was going to be very little wind. I turn around at 20 miles so that this is a quick out and back, and….what fresh hell is this? WIND???  I actually shake my fist at the sky, no lie.

Me:  Couldn’t I have JUST ONE RIDE without the DAMN WIND?????

Yes, I’ve become the crazy old man shouting at the sky. So be it.

I get back to my mom’s house and set about moving things and putting aside boxes and loading up the car with what we’re taking with us. My mom sees me hunched over and limping around and in serious pain and is appalled, and I realize how much I’ve gotten used to this over the past year.

(Ed. Note: the Rt. 66 road trip was indeed epic, and will have to be the subject of a future blog post.)

* * * * * * * * *

It’s amazing how quickly things happen now, because Betsy sent a referral to the surgeon/oncologist that day, and I have an appointment with him the day after I get back to Oregon.

 

Me: So, can you tell where the mass is originating? Is it ovarian, or uterine, or something else? I’m confused.

Surgeon: Well, the mass is so large that we really can’t tell where it’s originating from.

Me: And you can’t tell if it’s malignant or not from the MRI.

Surgeon: No, we won’t know until we actually take it out.
Me: So....just tell me the truth. What do you think are the chances it's cancer?
Surgeon: I'd say, 25%.

25%? That doesn't sound very good.

Me: What will the surgery consist of?

Surgeon: We’ll take out the mass and the ovary on that side, and then if people have a cancer history, we’ll take out the uterus and other ovary and…

Me: Umm, no.

Surgeon: Well, it would put you immediately into menopause, so that’s a drawback.

Me: Plus, I know this is dumb and stupid and I’m old as dirt, but….I still had this thought that I could have a baby. That obviously can’t happen if I don’t have a uterus.

Surgeon: Okay, we can leave it.

Me: Okay.

Surgeon: But.

Me:…..

Surgeon: Well…..it looks like the mass might be vascularly attached to the uterus.

Me: So obviously you wouldn’t be able to remove just the mass in that case.

Surgeon: Right.

Me:……

Me: I’m not stupid, and you can’t leave the mass in, so, if that’s the case, do what you have to do.

Fuck. My. Life.