Chapter III
DAY 3 | The Appointment
[su_divider top=”no” divider_color=”#000000″ margin=”0″]
The waiting room is large, lots of rows of chairs facing every direction. A table is stacked with puzzles and another table has one 75% complete that you can sit at and work while you wait.
Yeah, it’s that busy. We get there early and can check in right away. Within minutes of sitting down a line has formed. After our initial consultation we’ll come back to wait for a blood draw and the room will be completely packed with only two side by side chairs available in the whole area.
It’s crazy. All manner of patients coming in at seemingly every stage of Cancer. Some with headbands, some with oxygen tanks. Some like us; those with the deer in the headlights look in their eyes wondering how they’ve ended up in a place like this.
The receptionist is very nice, friendly, helpful. The feeling in the room is one of both commiseration and fear.
I fucking hate Cancer.
I’m looking around at these poor people, wondering what they’re going through and hoping beyond hope that we don’t end up like them. Is that mean? Does it make me a bad person for not wanting that?
We got here too early. We have to wait. Waiting sucks.
Finally, we get called back. Vitals are taken, information written down. “The doctor will be right with you.”
More waiting.
At one-point Dafna says, “Okay, they can come in now.”
She’s fidgeting. Nervous. Scared.
I’m scared too but I’m supposed to be helping her. I’m supposed to protect her and all I can do is sit here like an idiot and wait.
Have I mentioned how much I fucking hate Cancer?
I hold her hand. I rub her back.
Useless.
It doesn’t help. She’s worried about dying, how the hell is holding her hand or rubbing her back supposed to help?
The door opens, and he walks in.
Seems like a nice guy. Says hello, shakes our hands.
He doesn’t waste any time. He asks if anyone has told us what’s going on and then jumps right in.
I don’t remember the exact words.
I don’t know the specifics of what he said, but there are specific words and phrases that I cling onto like someone hanging over the edge of a cliff holding on by my fingertips.
“The ultrasound doesn’t look like it’s Cancer… yet”
“If it IS Cancer it’s likely only Stage 1 and likely curable”
And finally,
“It looks like it’s only contained in the tumor within the Uterus.”
He’s quick to point out that they won’t know until they do the surgery, but I don’t care. I’ll take hope any day of the week. I know there are risks. There are risks to surgery of any kind.
He schedules the surgery for a week and a half. We’re not fucking around, get this shit done NOW.
Dafna keeps asking me how I am. What am I supposed to say?
I can’t say “I’m a wreck, I’m afraid of losing you and I can’t live without you.”
I can’t say, “I’m tired, stressed, worried…” because she’s all of those things and more. It feels like I’m being hypocritical to even think those things much less say them.
“I’m fine”. That’s what I say, but I’m not fine. I’m so far away from ‘fine’ you can’t see it from here. But I hold her hand, rub her back, and tell her “I’m fine” because that’s all I can do.
I am completely powerless in this one. There is nothing I can do to protect her body from this invasive motherfucking group of cells that has decided to attack the most important person in my life and if I could trade places with her I wouldn’t even blink.
But I can’t.
All I can do is sit here like a useless lump and rub her back, hold her hand, and say stupid shit like “I’m fine.”
I wouldn’t think of asking her how she is doing. I know. I can see it in her eyes and it’s killing me.
[su_button url=”http://journeyinstitute.org/blog/the-c-word/waiting/” background=”#ffffff” color=”#000000″ size=”5″ icon_color=”#ffffff” text_shadow=”0px 0px 0px #000000″]<< Chapter II – Waiting[/su_button] [su_button url=”http://journeyinstitute.org/blog/the-c-word/the-room/” background=”#ffffff” color=”#000000″ size=”5″ icon_color=”#ffffff” text_shadow=”0px 0px 0px #000000″]Chapter IV – The Room >>[/su_button]