Lucille's been busy lately. She's been digging a big pit. A pit that is large and black and deep. She's brought me to the edge of the pit and asked me to take a peek.
"You don't scare me, Lucille. I'll look into that hole."
So I creep to the edge, but it makes me breathless and light-headed, because I can't see the bottom. And I am afraid -- very afraid. It's easy to battle Lucille in the day, when life moves ahead. There are lunches to pack, souls to counsel, and groceries to buy, after all. But at night, Lucille grows strong. And before every test, another wrestling match.
Today it was an MRI with a contrast dye. For those of you in the know, an MRI is ordered for some women when a mammogram is inconclusive or not detailed enough to rule out a possible malignancy. In my case, it gives my surgeon a better idea of what is going on inside, since my mammogram had not raised any red flags. A contrast dye is given via IV to provide better clarity in the images. I won't know the results for several days, and we shouldn't be given any surprises, but still...
The real anxiety for today, however, was locating my evasive pathalogy report. Each person's tumor is screened for several factors, including its reaction to hormones and its characteristic growth proteins. It's basically the road map the oncologist uses to create a treatment plan (chemo or no, and if so, what kind). Lucille's physical form was sent to the lab a week and a half ago, but she seemed to be lingering in medical limbo.
Finally, after numerous calls, we tracked down the report at the radiology lab. Holy grail in hand, we've been mercifully moved up to see the oncologist tomorrow.
Suck my big toe, Lucille. I think I see a light at the bottom of the pit.
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