Part 14: Beating the Odds

The woman turned her head, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply as the assistant released the blue dye into her system. A warm sensation quickly passed throughout her entire body. Initially, the nerd inside her was intrigued by the biological workings happening in her circulatory system at that moment, but the intrigue soon subsided. The thought that it was happening to her was disturbing, so she tried not to think about it and instead imagined herself relaxing on a warm beach. In reality she was laying on her back in a cold room tucked under a stack of white hospital blankets making her way towards the buzzing machine that would soon document her insides. She moved closer and closer when, suddenly, it all stopped.

“We need you to remove your bra and underwear,” echoed a voice over the intercom.

“Huh?” the woman replied, unsure if anyone could hear her as she was all alone in the room. She was confused by the request. This was a CT scan not a medical examination. She was pretty sure she could keep her clothes on.

“My underwear?” the woman asked the assistant entering the room and walking towards her.

“No—underwire. The underwire of your bra is causing interference,” said the assistant.

They had asked her at the beginning if she had any metal on and she had confidently assured them that she was good to go. Before she left her hospital room, she made sure all of it was gone. Apparently she forgot something.

The staff re-situated her and restarted the scans. It was painless. Her only complaint was that the room was freezing. The issued hospital gowns didn’t offer much warmth. The staff graciously offered her some warm blankets and she obliged. Then, they wheeled her back up to her hospital room where her husband and in-laws were waiting for her.

A few hours more hours of waiting passed and finally the CT scan results came back. Everyone held their breaths as they listened attentively to the doctors words: “The scans show no sign that the cells have spread. It is all contained within the uterus.”

A sigh of relief filled the room.

The doctor continued, “Based on these findings, we have diagnosed you with non-metastatic gestational trophoblastic neoplasia.”

The woman understood, but everyone else in the room looked a bit lost. The doctor translated, “Pretty much this form of the disease is invasive, but it’s not spreading and it’s not cancerous.”

More sighs of relief followed…and hugs…and tears…and smiles.

Finally, the woman could rest easy knowing that the cells weren’t attacking her brain, or any other part of her body for that matter. After two months of succumbing to what felt like the minutest odds, she was encouraged to know the odds were now moving back into her favor. Experience had taught her to mistrust potential good news, but she wasn’t going to let experience steal her joy in this moment. Thank you, Lord!

Part 13: Crimson Tears

She felt like a product on an assembly line. One by one the clinical assistants in radiology brought the patients into the dressing rooms, spouted off a memorized set of instructions, and handed them unflattering blue smocks to cover themselves. After changing, the woman went out to sit in the secondary waiting room, where she fit right in with the rest of the like-dressed patients. Shortly thereafter, she was escorted to a room to receive her ultrasound.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman apologized to the technologist, embarrassed by something she couldn’t control. It had been about an hour since she left the house for the clinic. The double-layer protection she thought would last a few hours had already lived its course and she was on the next round thanks to her husband who had packed extra pads against her wishes.

She lay on the exam table worried about how much blood she’d find underneath her afterward, while the technician maneuvered the ultrasound wand and diligently reviewed the images on the screen.

“Are you going to tell me what you see when you’re finished?” the woman casually asked.

“No. You’ll have to wait to discuss the findings with your doctor,” the technician succinctly replied.

Goodness. These technologists in radiology are way stricter than those in OB. Guess it won’t be the first time I’ve waited for answers.

The technician finished the scans and gave permission for the woman to leave. She met up with her husband and they walked over to the doctor’s office.

“The HCG results have come back and they have gone up again since your last draw five days ago,” the doctor began. “After reviewing the ultrasound, there seems to be re-growth of tissue in your uterus. We located a mass inside measuring about 3.5 to 4.0 centimeters and it seems to have grown into the uterine wall.”

A mass inside? the woman thought, shocked.

The doctor continued, “I took a look at your pathology results from the D&C and the cells did not have the appearance of choriocarcinoma, which is good. However, they have definitely started to invade into the uterine wall, which is a concern. We don’t want to do another D&C at this time because of the risk of possibly puncturing the uterus, which could cause uncontrollable bleeding and lead to hysterectomy.”

The word “hysterectomy” made the woman shutter.

“We want to preserve your fertility as best we can. The next step will be to get a CT scan to verify the cells have not spread to other parts of your body. We want to keep you overnight in the hospital to monitor your bleeding and make sure that goes down. And then we will also start you on chemotherapy treatments today.”

The woman felt like she was listening to the text book treatments she read on the internet and in online medical journals. The information was very familiar, but it wasn’t supposed to be her story. It was supposed to be some impersonal nice-to-know information that she didn’t have to worry about. But it was her story now, and somehow she would have to deal with it. All the times she had been given less than good news, she had been able to keep her composure, but this time was different. Though she didn’t know where else the crazy cells in her body may have gone, they had finally managed to get to her psyche and through her tears, she released the emotions that had been building inside her all day.

Part 8: Renewed Hope

Her hair was up in a loose pony tail. Clothed in a flowered gown, blue robe, and tan slippers, the woman sat in the hospital bed, her husband in the chair beside her, and they waited. She stared out the window into the early morning darkness and admired the city lights. There was something peaceful about that time of day, while the city still sleeps. She took a deep breath, allowing divine peace to calm her in preparation for the upcoming surgery.

“Time to go,” the nurse said, peeking her head around the curtain that split the room in two.

The woman stepped out of bed and followed the nurse down the hall to the elevator. She wasn’t sure what to expect as this was not only her first surgery, but also her first ever hospital visit. They entered a triage area full of people on hospital beds separated by curtains and bustling with hospital staff. The woman was directed to her bed and she climbed in.

After answering a long list of questions for the nurses and anesthesiologists, she was wheeled into the operating room. It looked just like tv: white walls, lights everywhere, people with masks dressed in blue, IVs and monitors. The decisiveness and speed at which the operating room staff moved was like a well oiled machine.

“We’re going to give you some oxygen now, so just breathe deep,” one of the staff said as they placed a mask over the woman’s mouth and nose.

She took about three breaths.

The next thing she realized, she was in the recovery room listening to a nurse talk on the phone, “She’s awake and stable. Ready to come back upstairs.” An escort came by shortly thereafter to wheel the woman back up to her room. When she got back, she found her husband sitting in the bedside chair with his laptop. It was a familiar sight and it comforted her.

Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the free cranberry juice, or maybe it was the knowledge that her body was finally rid of the harmful tissue that had been plaguing her for the past month. Whatever it was, she felt so good—better than she had in weeks. She wouldn’t find out the results of the biopsy for another few days, but still, a renewed sense of hope filled her heart and she was grateful that this was all finally coming to an end.