WIP - showing joy.ext_2035972July 31 2017, 19:32:07 UTC
Mom and Dad let me come that day, even though the news could go either way. There was a CAT scan this morning and then an appointment with Dr. Mills this afternoon when we'd get the news - good or bad. Ugh! Four hours of waiting in between during which my brain raced through several scenarios, each one more grim than the last. I mean, I wanted to stay positive, but when you're sitting around watching the people come and go in the Norris Cotton Cancer Center waiting room you can begin to despair. What we were waiting to hear was whether Dad's cancer had metastasized. I'll help you out on that word - it's when your cancer has spread to other parts of your body. If it has, then there are less options for treatment and less likelihood that Dad would ever have his life fully back the way he wanted it. "Come on, Krisanna, I could use a snack. Let's head down to the mall on the third floor. We've got time enough, we can even stop at the gift shop on our way back. Sweetie, you stay here and rest. We'll bring you back something to drink." “Yeah, that’s fine.” We headed off, and took our time eating our snacks on the patio outside, such a beautiful summer day, but all I could see were imagined storm clouds on our horizon, thunderbolts that sent fear and dread that chilled me to the soul. After we finished we browsed our way through the gift shop, and mom let me pick out one of those “adult” coloring books and a set of colored pencils. Back on the bench, the coloring book helped to pass the time, and kept me from staring at everyone, but it didn’t stop my brain from all of it’s “what ifs.” Finally, we heard the call, “Arthur.” That’s my dad. Time to find out the big news. We followed the nurse to another place to wait, an examination room where she took Dad’s height, weight, band vital signs, then curtly exited with a “The doctor will be in shortly,” directed over her shoulder as she pushed the vitals machine out the door. More waiting...it was 22 minutes (yes, I was counting). A quick knock on the door and in entered Dr. Mills, with a rather dour look on his face. Uh oh, does he have bad news? “Arthur, hi, I’m Dr. Mills, I am the surgeon who will operate on you if we decide that is to be done. And who do we have hear?” “I’m Carol, Arthur’s wife, Dr. Mills, and this is our daughter Krissana.” Same typical raised eyebrows indicating the doctor’s wonderment, no surprise to me. “Um...nice to meet you both. Krissana, that’s a pretty name, how old are you?” “I’m 12,” I replied. “Oh wow!” he answered, still staring, and I could almost see him mentally doing the math in his head to realize that Dad was 67 when he had me. “Well, folks, um...are you ok with me sharing our findings now, or if you want I can have a nurse show Krissana to a place where she can wait.” “No,” said Dad. “Krissana knows that the news could be good or bad, and we’re prepared for whatever.” “OK, well, I won’t keep you in suspense. Most of the news is good. You went for a PET Scan the other day, and that showed that the cancer had not spread to any other part of your body. Today's MRI confirmed that. “So you are saying, the cancer hasn’t meta...mest..me-tas-tatized?” I interrupted. “That’s right,” Dr. Mills replied, “Exactly. So, we’re looking at the best case scenario here. Your dad will have to go for radiation and chemotherapy, but the chances of him beating this cancer are high, so let’s focus on that, shall we?” Suddenly, even though we were in a room without windows, the sun was shining, bright and vibrant, warming me all over. And for the first time since we heard the diagnosis of cancer several weeks ago, the storm clouds on the horizon were less threatening, the thunderclouds turned to puffy cumulus clouds with hidden pictures of elephants, puppies and bunny rabbits. No longer was there a need to batten down the hatches or head to a storm shelter. No longer a need to bring in the firewood and round up candles, flashlights, and emergency supplies. Dad was going to live!
What we were waiting to hear was whether Dad's cancer had metastasized. I'll help you out on that word - it's when your cancer has spread to other parts of your body. If it has, then there are less options for treatment and less likelihood that Dad would ever have his life fully back the way he wanted it.
"Come on, Krisanna, I could use a snack. Let's head down to the mall on the third floor. We've got time enough, we can even stop at the gift shop on our way back. Sweetie, you stay here and rest. We'll bring you back something to drink."
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
We headed off, and took our time eating our snacks on the patio outside, such a beautiful summer day, but all I could see were imagined storm clouds on our horizon, thunderbolts that sent fear and dread that chilled me to the soul.
After we finished we browsed our way through the gift shop, and mom let me pick out one of those “adult” coloring books and a set of colored pencils.
Back on the bench, the coloring book helped to pass the time, and kept me from staring at everyone, but it didn’t stop my brain from all of it’s “what ifs.”
Finally, we heard the call, “Arthur.”
That’s my dad. Time to find out the big news. We followed the nurse to another place to wait, an examination room where she took Dad’s height, weight, band vital signs, then curtly exited with a “The doctor will be in shortly,” directed over her shoulder as she pushed the vitals machine out the door.
More waiting...it was 22 minutes (yes, I was counting).
A quick knock on the door and in entered Dr. Mills, with a rather dour look on his face. Uh oh, does he have bad news?
“Arthur, hi, I’m Dr. Mills, I am the surgeon who will operate on you if we decide that is to be done. And who do we have hear?”
“I’m Carol, Arthur’s wife, Dr. Mills, and this is our daughter Krissana.” Same typical raised eyebrows indicating the doctor’s wonderment, no surprise to me.
“Um...nice to meet you both. Krissana, that’s a pretty name, how old are you?”
“I’m 12,” I replied.
“Oh wow!” he answered, still staring, and I could almost see him mentally doing the math in his head to realize that Dad was 67 when he had me.
“Well, folks, um...are you ok with me sharing our findings now, or if you want I can have a nurse show Krissana to a place where she can wait.”
“No,” said Dad. “Krissana knows that the news could be good or bad, and we’re prepared for whatever.”
“OK, well, I won’t keep you in suspense. Most of the news is good. You went for a PET Scan the other day, and that showed that the cancer had not spread to any other part of your body. Today's MRI confirmed that.
“So you are saying, the cancer hasn’t meta...mest..me-tas-tatized?” I interrupted.
“That’s right,” Dr. Mills replied, “Exactly. So, we’re looking at the best case scenario here. Your dad will have to go for radiation and chemotherapy, but the chances of him beating this cancer are high, so let’s focus on that, shall we?”
Suddenly, even though we were in a room without windows, the sun was shining, bright and vibrant, warming me all over. And for the first time since we heard the diagnosis of cancer several weeks ago, the storm clouds on the horizon were less threatening, the thunderclouds turned to puffy cumulus clouds with hidden pictures of elephants, puppies and bunny rabbits. No longer was there a need to batten down the hatches or head to a storm shelter. No longer a need to bring in the firewood and round up candles, flashlights, and emergency supplies. Dad was going to live!
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