Hi, Nice to Meet You.

Don't you wish sometimes that you could meet people under different circumstances?

 

Here's a picture of someone I'm meeting tomorrow.

 

According to what I've read about him, I'm picturing him having an Irish accent.

So I wish that our encounter could have been at the Irish pub... and not where I'll be meeting him.

 

This is Dr. Thambi.

He is a surgeon.

 

Let's back track, shall we?

 

For a few years, I've been having some bladder issues. I never thought anything of them, since everything else in my body never cooperates. Then my pain management doctor was asking me questions, and became concerned that I could possibly have this other condition. So, he referred me to a uro- gynecologist. I had a bladder scan, a bladder "biopsy", a very strange urine test (I don't like peeing in front of people, and especially with a bunch of tubes and wires in my nether region!) The uro-gynecologist then ordered a CT to make sure my kidneys were functioning correctly.

 

I had the CT last Wednesday. It was with contrast.

So, Thursday, the nurse called to say that my kidneys were fine.

Woohoo, right?

Then she said, "but there is 2 cm growth on your pancreas. We are referring you to a surgeon."

 

Excuse me? What?

After the phone call, I sat stunned for a few moments.

Then the tears started running down my face.

Immediate calls to my mom. No answer.

Immediately contacted Brandon, who freaked.

More calls to my mom. Still no answer.

Called Ann. No answer.

I'm balling. I'm inconsolable at this point.

 

Finally, Brandon is home.

Finally, my mom calls.

 

So moving forward...

 

We met with the Doc that ordered the CT the next day, so that he could do the bladder "biopsy." He explained this "growth."

 

"It's a tumor about the size of a golf ball, growing on your pancreas."

He then told me that I'm young, and female, so that I shouldn't worry.

 

Ha. Right.

Dr. Thambi's office called to set up a consultation.

Friday. The following Friday. As in a week. Ok, it would have to do.

Then a nurse called, to update my chart.

I told her how panicked I was.

She moved the appointment up to Tuesday.

Tomorrow. 12:30.

 

So, tomorrow, I get to meet this new person.

I'm trying to remain optimistic.

But that's not working.

 

To put it simply,

I'm terrified.

 

I've never been so terrified in my life.

Brain surgery? Ok. At least I knew why.

Rib resection? Ok. At least I knew why.

 

Tumor? No. It's unknown.

 

I'm trying to stay strong. I'm trying to smile with my kids.

I'm trying.

 

It's not really working as well as I had hoped.

I break down at the most random times.

I haven't slept well.

My stomach is acting up more than normal.

 

I'm worried about this thing growing in me.

I'm worried about what we'll have to do to get it out.

I'm worried about what it could be.

I'm worried I'll have to miss world finals.

I'm worried I'll have to miss my friend, Ann's, wedding.

 

I'm worried.

More than I have ever worried before.

 

I'm so used to my pain.

I'm used to having bad days.

I'm used to feeling miserable, physically.

 

I am not used to being terrified like this.

 

So, "hi, nice to meet you, Dr. Thambi."

That's a lie.

I don't want to meet you.

I don't want this to be real.

 

I hope there is some answer tomorrow. Some relief.

Any relief.

 

Then I can plan the rest of the next few months.

Then I can take a deep breath.

Then I can move on.

 

I hope.

 

Melissa