2 July 2012 – the start of my ‘real’ cancer journey. The rest was just tests and more tests that were all supposed to come back just fine. Except they didn’t. Which is why I had to have a cold-knife cone biopsy on 2 July, somehow still hoping it would just confirm the results from prior tests, while convinced it would come back with more bad news just like my other tests.
We arrived at UCLA at around 11:00 in the morning for my 1:30pm surgery. I was close to bludgeoning someone to death and swiping the coffee out of their cold, dead hands. Normally I wouldn’t do something like that (honest!), but on this day I had been directed to neither eat nor drink anything after midnight the day prior. Some medical mumbo-jumbo about general anesthesia and choking and dying or something. (Actually, the chief anesthesiologist stopped by later and explained it all for a good 45 minutes, but I prefer ‘mumbo-jumbo’.) Sure I was hungry, but all those darned students and doctors strolling around with their Starbucks cups and travel mugs…that was the worst. So we headed upstairs to check in. Did I say lack of caffeine was the worst? I was wrong. There was a man there waiting for surgery as well, and he had brought his wife and their 2 lovely screaming toddlers. Normally, no biggie. Add in stress, hunger and lack of caffeine, and I was soon entertaining thoughts of punting those children off the roof. Or at the very least introducing them to duct tape. Thankfully, they were called back before me, and peace reigned in the waiting room.
A while later, my name was finally called. Whee hoo! But instead of being led off to my hospital bed and happy drugs in an IV, we were shown to…another waiting room. Apparently there are stages of waiting. Or something. At least this one had…coffee. Bastards. Not sure where they took the squalling kids off too, but they weren’t in this waiting room. Thank goodness. Another little bit later, and my name was called. Finally! I go back, get in to my oh-so-sexy hospital gown and hop into bed. Let’s get this show on the road! I met nurses, anesthesiologists, other doctors and a whole host of folks. They got my IV in after a few painfully awful tries, and I was ready to go. Then the nurse comes back and tells me my doctor is stuck in surgery across the street. 30 minutes, tops. 30 minutes later…still stuck. And they wouldn’t start my happy drugs in the IV until he was on his way. None of these people knew the danger they were in of me going in to full-on zombie mode and gnawing on the nearest limb out of hunger. Luckily, my surgeon finally finished his other surgery, and the happy drugs were started. And that’s all I remember. Somewhere in there, I recall warm blankets, but that’s really it.
Fast forward an hour or so later, and I woke up. Pain wasn’t too bad – mostly like bad cramps. The nurse offered me some oxycontin for the pain and me, being a dumbass, said no. It really wasn’t that bad though. They let me lounge around in bed for a while until I talked to all the doctors and whatnot and felt closer to normal, then it was time to head home. Still felt ok – starving, but ok – so we decided to stop for a late lunch. Mainly because Rudy didn’t want me to eat the flesh off his arm. He was highly amused that out of all the places in LA to eat, I wanted Denny’s. What can I say? Comfort food sounded good! And that was the best darn Moons Over My Hammy I’ve ever eaten. And surprise, this Denny’s has happy hour every day from about 3:00 to 5:00pm (or something like that…) where you get 50% off your bill. Score! Then we had a long drive home, a few days of feeling tired (mostly from the anesthesia) and a week or two of cramps and I was as good as new. Well, maybe not new – let’s go with good as certified pre-owned.
So then we waited. The surgeon told me the results would be back in one week. Seven short days. One week has never felt so incredibly long. I was remarkably patient for approximately 168 hours – then I called his office. After fighting through the world’s longest prompt menu (Press 1 for Dr. XYZ, Dr. ABC and Dr. KLM. Press 2 for Dr. …..) I think it listed about 50 doctors. Finally – hallelujah! – a human voice. The human voice I would hear a few more times in the coming days, and who was very sweet and patient with me. I asked if my results were in, and after a few moments on hold, I got the dreaded, ‘not yet. Sorry, hun.’ She then was kind enough to give me her direct line so I could skip the menu next time. I gave her fair warning that she would hear from me every single day until my results were in. She just laughed and said she understood. When I called the next day, same thing. No results. It was around day 7 that I started really losing my mind and imagining the worst. When day 8 hit, I was convinced of the worst – why else would it be taking so long! Day 9 – same thing. But this time, my lovely lady on the other end of the phone said the magic words, ‘You shouldn’t be waiting this long. Let me send a note to the doctor and the lab and see what’s going on.’ I thanked her and told her I’d talk to her tomorrow.
I never did talk to her tomorrow. I went home after work, had dinner, made a drink and sat down to watch some mindless tv. Family Guy, I believe. Then I glanced over at my phone and saw a missed call. Huh. Don’t know anyone from that city…oh hell. It’s an LA area code. I should check that. Sure enough, it was my surgeon calling me from home at about 6:08pm. And yes, I remember the time. I called him back and of course, his cell phone sounded like nothing but wind and static and crap. Somehow amongst all that I heard ‘tumor.’ And my heart dropped. I stayed calm while I fought to ask questions and understand his answers through the terrible cell connection. And what I heard was that my adenocarcinoma in-situ was now officially ‘real’ cancer – they had found a tumor in the endocervix – stage 1B1 cancer. He told me he wanted to see me in his office to discuss treatment options, and we were able to get an appointment with him one week later. I spent the rest of the evening calling immediate family and e-mailing close friends. I didn’t have the energy to do more than that. Other than that, I made a few more drinks and my man and I spent the evening taking turns crying on each others’ shoulders. But in all honesty, I cried a little less. That’s the upside to being a bit pessimistic – I was already expecting the results.