Saturday, May 09, 2009

Take Care.

Friend called this morning. Without telling too much of a story not my own, I'll say that she and her family are still waiting for her mother's surgery. And that she sounds - as she does a majority of the time - impressively strong and startlingly funny.


"What time did Mom leave?" I asked my father on Thursday. I smiled when he said he was coming too - they'd be here in a little over an hour. So the dog, cat and I waited for my parents to arrive - racing eagerly (Sprout upstairs and Chienne and I toward the garage door) when they got here. We ordered pizza and talked before heading to bed a few hours later.

"Drink your water," they reminded me when I descended the steps Friday morning. Mom moved to fetch the giant bottle of Evian she'd brought with her and I frowned.

"I only need to drink 32 ounces," I pouted, unscrewing the lid and beginning to sip. "This is 48." But, under their close supervision, I swallowed more and more water before the deadline - an hour before my appointment.

"Nice, full bladder," my technologist said as she moved the ultrasound. I nodded, staring at the ceiling while I thought of how Dad worriedly told me there's a history of uterine cancer on his side. How Mom, who I'd left in the waiting room, keeps reaching to hold my hand.

"I can't tell what it is," the technologist spoke again and I turned my head to look at her as I nodded. "I'm not even sure if it's an ovarian or uterine mass."

"It's uterine," I said softly and she nodded but warned me they might want additional tests. I nodded again, thanking her before asking where the restroom was.

Bladder blessedly empty and hand in Mom's again, we walked from the hospital and to my car, deciding to go fetch Dad so we could get breakfast. Hours later, I waited in front of my building for them to come fetch me.

"My parents are coming for me," I told a colleague when he gave me a befuddled glance. He paused to talk for a few minutes until I saw the Jeep come around the corner. He teased me about being a child and I thanked him for waiting with me so I didn't become frightened on my own.

We went for dinner and talked. Brother called to see how I was. We went shopping today. I heard Mom tell Aunt we didn't know anything yet. Decorative bunnies guard my front door - Chienne has carefully examined them and deemed them good. I planted flowers - pretty purple and sunny yellow - in the bed beside my driveway.

I could be sick. I am concerned. But I think it'll be OK - we're all doing a credible job of reassuring each other of that.


EthidiumBromide said...

Just take one day at a time. As someone who has been through the waiting game (and the treatment game, with the big C-word), I can tell you that honestly, the waiting is the worst part. Because once you know, you can form a plan, and a plan always means that at least you have something to do. But the waiting? The waiting stinks. So just sit back, take a deep breath, and be so thankful you have so many loving people around you no matter what the outcome.


Amanda@Lady Scientist said...

Thank you for the update on Friend. I'm thinking of both of you.

Brigindo said...

I'm so glad you have your parents there for you. And thanks for the update on Friend. You are both amazingly strong.

Jenn, PhD said...

Thinking of you Katie! I'm glad your parents are there with you

Mad Hatter said...

Katie, I went through this a few years ago, full bladder and everything. It turned out to be benign, but I know how scary the process can be. I hope that yours also turns out to be nothing to worry about. Hang in there and I'll be thinking of you.

Psych Post Doc said...

You and friend are both in my thoughts. Any idea when you'll have more info?

Anonymous said...

I'm thinking of you. I hope you get to know soon.

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