The Incidental Finding

As you may have read in one or more of my previous posts, I am a hypochondriac. I am a hyper, hypochondriac. That means not only am I very familiar with the quickest routes to all the ER's in my area, but I am also very adept at navigating through WebMD. My most recent venture to the ER was for reflux; more precisely, the feeling that acid was gouging through my digestive track and indiscriminately eviscerating everything vital.  I figured I'd be loaded up with protonix and sent on my way with nothing more than a $200 bill and foolish regret.  I wasn't terribly surprised when I was rolled into CT. I was shocked when I was informed I'd be admitted for the night. When I asked the hospitalist why, I was handed a piece of paper and told to read.  There was a lot of medical jargon that my brain couldn't process but as a hyper, hypochondriac, my eyes were immediately drawn to the words "large brown tumor","Lytic Lesion" and "possible malignancy". These are words a hyper hypochondriac like myself know well.  I had two immediate reactions. The first was, "Holy shit, there may be something wrong with me!" (I'm not crazy) and "Holy shit! There may be something wrong with me?" (Seriously, there may be something wrong with me?).  So they brought me to a room, gave me an Ambien and told me to take all that information I'd swallowed; all those horrible, bitter tasting words and "throw them away".  We would cross that bridge, IF we came to it. Reassuring...if you're not a hyper hypochondriac...which I am.  Chemically induced slumber overtook me and I'm not saying I'd take them again, but I can see how Ambien could be addictive.  Beautiful, unencumbered sleep where, though dreams are not allowed, neither are nightmares. Next morning, I had my MRI and sure enough, they found a sizable lytic lesion embedded in the Illiac Crest of my pelvic bone. Instead of biopsying it locally, I was advised to consult an orthopedic oncologist in Boston.  Tomorrow I go to Dana Farber to meet  a new doctor who will study my pelvic bone in all its lytic glory...and I'm scared shitless. For the weeks leading up to my appointment I've been pretty optimistic. I'd go so far as to say I've been downright unfazed, which for a hypochondriac is a feat in and of itself. I've convinced myself that everything is going to be fine. That this doctor will give me a smile, a hearty handshake and a diagnosis that will include the word "benign". Tonight, even as I type this, I feel as though I've jinxed myself. Like, by telling myself everything will be okay, I've sealed my fate. Though I've never had any consistent pain in my pelvic bone, I now find I'm overly sensitive to any discomfort in that area.  I swear I can feel this thing just pulsing and growing; this threatening, unwelcome incidental finding, messing with me from a place I can't reach. Last night, I had heartbreaking visions of having to tell my children the most awful news. I thought, what if I don't get to see them grow up? What if my husband has to raise them alone? What if they forget all about me and how much I loved them after I'm gone? My husband held me close and let me cry before telling me what he always tells me when I'm contemplating death; that I'm a hypochondriac, that everything is going to be fine and that I spend too much time worrying about things that may never come to fruition.  A co-worker of mine, who happens to be a radiologist, took a look at the images for me and told me he was 99% sure this was a non-issue. He felt confident saying things look favorable for me living a long, healthy life. 99% and all I can focus on is that 1% he can't give me. I've hugged my son, daughter and husband a lot over the last couple of days. I've uttered the phrase "I love you" more times in the past 48 hours than I can count. I've tried really hard to be patient, nurturing and calm, because I can't afford to have them remember me as a cranky, angry woman they're glad to be rid of, should I be handed over to that 1%. That 1% has given me a lot of perspective on what it means to appreciate even the most miserable parts of your life...because at least you still get to experience them. When I come home tomorrow with, what I'm sure will be a clean bill of health, I'll forget all about embracing the mundane and finding the good in our bad times. The marker on the table, the spilled juice cup, the arguments over bed time will once again send me to the brink of insanity with my children. Chris and I will fall back into our routine of nagging each other and tallying up who does more on a daily basis: who changed more diapers, who got less sleep, who did more dishes. I don't know what would be less unfortunate. I want to be in that 99%, but I don't want to forget to live in the 1%.