Tuesday

Mom rewind:
Last Tuesday Nathan took time from his Masters studies to take Mom to a follow up visit to the surgeon to check the stitches in her foot. He wanted to leave them in another week. Then on Thursday to the oncologist for CT and PET scans. She had to drink a refreshing barium cocktail and lay still for a couple of hours during the scans. Fun time had by all.

Today I took Mom in for the results. When I picked her up, I could tell immediately that all was not well. I asked her if she felt alright and she said "No, I don't feel good." She told me that her irregular heartbeat had flared up Wednesday afternoon and her BP was elevated.

I had a hunch that she was apprehensive about the test results and asked her if she was nervous. She said yes. While I have had some concern lurking during the week,I felt fairly confident that we would get a positive report since the lymph nodes showed no sign of the melanoma spreading. I did not, however, realized how much it was weighing on Mom.

As we sat in the waiting room, reality after reality walked through the door. There was a foreboding air of dread and uncertainty permeating the room. The variety of bandannas, hats and baseball caps indicated that many of our fellow "wait-tients" were veterans of the office and knew what awaited them in the back rooms. Several were in and out in minutes but all had colorful bandages around their forearms as they left.
The cast of body language was as divergent as the head gear. Knees bobbing like pistons, stoic eyes avoiding contact with others, whispered conversations, anxiety straining to dissolve a brave face, ambivalent ears waiting for the nurses inevitable call, and all the while the high-def TV ran through it's programing without a single glance directed toward it.

The sheer number of our fellows coming and going indiscriminate of race, sex, age or status had a chilling affect my psyche. I became aware of my confidence sharing a teeter-totter with doubt.

A smiling voice summoned us to a hall less traveled where we met Mickey, "like the mouse", who was conspicuously well dressed, professional but with an updated eye for fashion, unlike the scrub clad voices from the other hall. She escorted us through the maze of offices, nurses stations, and examining rooms to a converted storage room that was bisected by a folding modesty screen. There was a desk and a couple of chairs very no-tech, no computer, no phone.

I was amused and confused but Mickey soon explained that she was a social worker for a non-profit organization that provided an array of services for the oncology group in northwest Arkansas. She asked Mom if she would mind filling out a short questionnaire so that she could appraise what services that she might use if the need (diagnosis) arose. We were impressed with the wide range of support they offered oncology patients and Mickey skillfully chose her words so as not to arouse anxiety. Mom graciously took all the information and Mickey took us back out to the waiting room where a whole new company of characters had taken seats.

A friend and former colleague of mine who had been through an arduous year and a half of treatments came in and came over to say hello. She had doffed the hats and turbans several months ago and was not about to hide her new do under a rag. Her smile, energy, and optimism boosted our morale. I don't believe in omens, but she is a Jones girl too.

Finally, we were invited down the other hall past two rows of tourniquet bearers to a generic examining room. An aide checked vitals(BP 160/61 and pulse of 90 bpm), a nurse verified history, and then the "messenger". I think the doc may have been auditioning for General Hospital because he introduced himself, took a long serious look at the folder and after a dramatic pause said, "Mrs Jones, I don't see much here." The scans don't show anything but old scars from previous battles. He did want to do another round of scans in 3 or 4 months to satisfy his diagnosis on a couple of lymph nodes that looked like they had been beat up in an earlier fight, but he saw no reason to recommend any further treatment. Mom got out her list of questions and he answered everyone and was impressed that she had a list. He took time to listen to Mom's heart and lungs and asked about her symptoms from yesterday evening and this morning. He thought that anxiety probably had a lot to do with it.

We left with relief in our hearts if not on our faces.

We walked two doors down to let the surgeon's nurse remove the stitches from Mom's foot. She was hoping to be able to wear her shoe home, but that will have to wait another week.

I called to check on Mom after work and her BP was 140/60 and pulse was down to 60.

Tonight we pray for all who need hope.

God is good!