My Turn to Worry?

Even as I write this I think, “Do you really need this to be about you?” But I flunked my blood tests. Again. Twice in one year. Well, not flunked exactly, but a C-minus. Not enough white blood cells. It’s called neutropenia. I Googled like crazy and sad to say, it’s a kind of boring disease. They use the word idiopathic a lot which basically means “Who the fuck knows”.

It’s not like leukemia—I went there first. I mean I came of age with Ali McGraw and “Love Story”, so every girl in her fifties remembers the dream to die so beautifully and with the perfect camel coat. No, leukemia is too many white blood cells. I have too few. It’s like low self-esteem of the blood cells. Figures.

Last year when my tests came back like this I was sentenced to six weeks of blood tests at the hematology center and the doc said, “Yep, you have low white blood cells.” So I’m not overly impressed.

But way, way in the back of my head is a little voice that whispers, “This is how it starts.”

His Check Up-- My Check Out

It hit me hard today. The date was on the calendar a long time. But I had made one deal with God four months ago, so did I dare another? I did. But then it was today. John’s appointment was at 4 o’clock and at 9am I was mad at him, talking to myself, talking to him—though he wasn’t in the car with me. I was mad about his work, my job, money, family, yeah even sex. Of course it took me a good 30 minutes to get it: I was mad about cancer.

Mad that every four months this big crevasse opens and I drop in. He doesn’t—or says he doesn’t. But I wonder. These are the times I wish to be male—to have that ability to compartmentalize.

But the good news is that I caught myself. I talked myself down—or up as the case may be. I remembered that I loved him with or without cancer and that maybe cancer makes it all more precious. Lesson of second marriage and of cancer: dust doesn’t matter, check books don’t matter, laundry doesn’t matter but good sex and watching movies together does.

But what I still hate is that I live so far out. I live in four month increments. I live now—the exam at 4pm was fine and most of the blood work was fine-- But we wait four business days till the results are back for the “cancer marker” that crucial blood test that tells whether cancer has returned.

Follow Up NYOH Day

This afternoon I met John at the New York Oncology Hematology Center for his follow-up appointment and blood work. Driving there I could feel the old feelings revive. The place is decent; the people are good and very caring. I expected to have a fearful and negative reaction when I went thru those wide air-pressure doors but not so. Yes, I felt the fear and all those questions racing thru my head: What if the blood work isn’t good this time? What is they see something?

So yes all the worries were there but also a surprising good memory too. For those six months when we met there every week—John coming from his office and me coming from mine--bringing bags of books to read, stopping to pick up food for us and some great treat for the Staff and other clients—there was a good feeling mixed in with all the others. John and I spent four hours there each week. It was our talking time, gossip time, reading to each other time. We got to know other patients—and families—on the same schedule. We saw people start to look better and yes, we saw people slowly look much worse too. But there was a lot of care and a lot of caring. Those memories were also revived when I walked into NYOH today.

Today they did John’s blood work and a cursory physical exam. He had to answer questions about his bowel movements and his urinary system in front of me. That’s real intimacy! Lisa, the PA was warm and easy to talk to. She confirmed that it may take another year to see if the numbness and neuropathy will ever leave his feet. That is the very physical souvenir of the chemo, and she looked at his belly and scars—the remaining souvenir of surgery.

Today’s blood work was fine but the CEA—the cancer marker—takes a longer lab. So while I feel better now, I’ll feel better on Monday after we know that blood test is OK too.

I continue to play with, “What will we do if and when it isn’t OK?” But for today, this Friday night, we’re eating calzones and making love.

The Surgeon

She is cute. Dark-haired, tiny, smart and funny. I sense that she had to learn bed-side and knife-side manners. In Myers-Briggs I’m guessing that she is an ESTJ...you’d want that “S” and that “J” in a surgeon. You’d want a certain amount of confidence and being able to command and control.

The appointment was good. We both asked questions. Talked about the next steps. She will do his colonoscopy in May. The blood testing begins in March. They will test blood for the cancer “marker”. When and if it elevates then they look for more cancer. They don’t do regular CAT scans because, as she explained, you don’t want a lot of scans—after all excess radiation can cause cancer.

It was the first time we had left that office and felt normal. Only when we got to the car did I realize that no scary bomb had been dropped like there was each other time that we’d seen her: 1. I’m going to cut away your ascending colon. 2. You have Stage Three cancer and you need chemo—and a port. 3. The side effects are hard and they are yours. And now, a much friendlier visit, with laughter and smiles all around.