We all die. That’s a given fact, an indisputable truth. And
it happens to the best of us. But, what would you do if you had to face mortality
head-on? Sneer? Laugh? Cry? Break something? Wrap your arms around everyone
you love and squeeze as hard as possible? All of the above? I don’t think anyone knows how they will react
until they actually look that mortality Bitch in the eyes and shake her hand. Sadly,
I may soon find out what it is I will do.
I have Polycythemia Vera (PV). PV is a bone marrow condition
that over produces red blood cells. It isn’t symptomatic and I
don’t experience any issues or signs that I actually have the disease. My GP
discovered the condition during routine blood tests when my red blood count
showed elevated on multiple consecutive visits. Left untreated PV can be fatal because of the thickening
of the blood and pushing thicker blood through the body. The treatment is simply
a bloodletting. I go to the doctor every 3-4 weeks and get a phlebotomy.
I go to the doctor’s office and a vampire (nurse) shoves a needle in my arm and
removes a pint of blood. It’s largely painless after the initial needle stick and being a pint low on blood makes
me a cheap date if I have a drink or two. The treatment is more of a scheduling
hassle than anything else.
On every other visit I see a PA, Barbara. Barbara asks about
any symptoms and checks me over. She listens to my heart and lungs and pushes
and pokes around my head and torso. The last time I was in the office, a couple
of weeks ago, she was poking around and said, “Hmm, I haven’t felt that lump
before.” I asked “what lump and where?” It was on my upper right side just
under my collarbone and in the corner of my torso where the collarbone,
shoulder and chest form a triangle. I felt it and said “I think it’s my chest
muscle and it’s just a little swollen from moving some heavy equipment last
weekend.” She says “well, we need to get a CAT scan.” I’m thinking swell,
another visit to another doctor and another procedure. Then after I leave I
think OK, so she is an oncologist and she is accustomed to pushing and poking
lumps and since she is concerned maybe I shouldn’t be so flippant and get the procedure.
I go in early one
morning this past week and I have a CAT scan with contrast. It’s a CAT scan and
taken while you are being pumped full of a contrast agent via an IV. It too is
largely painless, although the contrast agent made me feel a little nauseous
for about five minutes. When I leave I ask the technician what the process is
and she explains a radiologist will look at the scan and send it to the doctor
in 2-3 days.
So I was a little surprised when Barbara called me that
afternoon and said “we received the results of your CAT scan and it appears you
have a mass in your chest.” I managed to reply “wait, what was that?”
Did you say mass?” She says “yes, it’s about 2.5 centimeters by 2 centimeters
and it is deeper in the chest that I thought it was. The lump I felt is there
because the mass is pushing your chest out.” WTF? A mass? I ask her “what the
next step is and how do we get there.” She replies “the next step is a PET scan,
we’ll try to do it next week, and we also need some blood for a series of protein
tests. When can you stop by for the blood test?” I schedule the blood tests for the next
morning and get on the PC.
I Google 2.5 centimeters because I only know the basics
about the metric system and I don’t know how big, or small, 2.5 centimeters are.
I also can’t think clearly enough to even attempt to anything but an Internet
search and I barely manage that. I found out it’s just under an inch and 2 centimeters
is about three fourths of an inch. About the size of my thumb from the tip to
the knuckle; I think it’s about the size of a beanie-weenie weenie. Not very
big if you were sitting down to lunch, but quite large when it is in your chest
and it ain’t supposed to be there. It’s big enough to alarm Barbara and certainly
big enough to freak me out.
The only things Barbara and I have at this point are more questions.
There isn’t enough information to make any sort of decision and just enough
information to speculate from one end of the medial spectrum to the other and
speculation is a worthless exercise. This
mass could be benign and Babs and I could enjoy a hearty whew and a good laugh or
it could be the beginning of the end of me.
I can see that the mortality
Bitch is walking down my street and I don’t know if she is going to knock on my
door or bypass my house and darken someone else’s life. All I can to at this
point is wait on the blood tests results, get the PET scan, make myself ready
for the inevitable biopsy and do my best not to speculate.
But speculation is hard to avoid when I make
my nightly trek to the bathroom and after climbing back into bed and just
before I fall back asleep when I feel a twitch in my shoulder and I pop wide awake
thinking WTF?
Stay tuned…
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