Caring Today Blog

I Forgot

Submitted by Debbie on 2008, March 25 - 09:35.

During the process of caring for my dad, I forgot one important thing. I have gotten so wrapped up and wrapped around the bend, that the basic reason I am doing this got lost in the shuffle. Well, let me try to explain...

Like a good caregiver, I went to the doctor for my annual checkup. You know, the girlie one. I was ever so confident that I breezed in and out with a "Pip, pip, cheerio, old man." Yes, I hate to say it, but I was a wee bit smug—and, by now, I should know that only gets me into trouble.

So, I had the tests and skipped off to address my state legislators in Juneau, only to come home to find several messages from my doctor. Now, I know they never call to deliver good news, so I braced myself. Seems I managed to fail both a Pap smear and a mammogram in the same week. Go Team Newsham!!!

The doctor was going on vacation for a couple of weeks, so we made an appointment for when he'd be back. In the meantime, I was sent for another mammogram. I am not going to say a mammogram is the worst thing that ever happened to me, but it is a bit...awkward, at best. They zoomed in on my little mass. I was told to stay there while it was read. Then I was sent for an ultrasound. While doing the ultrasound, the technician asked me to hum. So there I am, humming my little heart out, while she frowns and finally says she is getting help. Another woman is called in and I am asked to roll here, roll there, arm here, arm there. Finally, I am draped like a Rubenesque sculpture, one arm bent over my head, lying back, shirt carelessly fallen half open. They whisper and look, whisper and look and repeat. Then they come to agreement and send me off. Two days later my doctor calls and says, "No worries. You have a speck that is very nice and we will look at it again in six months." Whew!

Next was the Pap follow-up. I was told to come in for an ultrasound to see what was there. This supposedly is pretty much a meet-and-greet between my doctor and me. Once again the screen shows black-and-white blobs. They obviously have significance to the doctor, as he's nodding sagely and taking measurements. Soon he perks up and shares that I have lovely ovaries. Well, what woman wouldn't like to hear that? The only response I could come up with was, "And you, doctor, have a lovely spleen."

He finishes and we have a cheerful talk about risk factors and aggressive treatments and we schedule a biopsy. I will spare you the details, but I am less than enthused, as the ultrasound is considered "well tolerated." Ha! Well tolerated by whom? The doctor? Certainly NOT the patient. And the biopsy is not so well tolerated, either. Oh, lucky me!

On my way home I realize what is going on. They think I have cancer. This is a staggering realization for me. I mean, cancer is a major disease. I mean, it has its own ribbon, walks, foundations and so on. I am struck with horror and terror. Then I feel like I am in a bad dream. How could this happen to me? This cannot be my life.

And then I come to that realization that got me started on this blog entry. I am a caregiver for someone who is ill. All the fear, the anxiety, the not feeling good, the being cranky and intimidated by the medical-ese, the loss of personal space, etc., is second nature to those for whom I have cared. They, too, experienced each of these sensations time and time again. No matter how kind or professional the provider, our loved ones feel sick, tired, scared and more.

Somehow I lost sight of that along way. Feeling sick when you are sick is so obvious that I am shocked I forgot. So, as my journey begins and my dad's continues, I hope to be a little wiser, a little more understanding, and as loving as I can.