Do you remember when you were single? Go back into the memory files of your brain. Think back to the time before you had a husband, a significant other, or even the steady boyfriend. Think back before your husband would call just to say he was on his way home and did he need to pick up your child from soccer practice. Go way back in time, before you were comfortable with your special someone. The person you could call twenty times as work to tell them about the crazy day you’re having and why won’t the principal call them instead of you when their daughter has taken a political stand and dyed their hair blue. (And then calling them back and asking – why is blue so political) Think back to the first meeting. Wade through the foggy memories of being single. Remember meeting that certain someone, the person you thought you might want to give your heart to or at least have a cup of coffee at Starbucks with. You smile, they smile, you chat, they say something witty, your eyes twinkle with laughter, they nod their head with confidence. The age old dance of getting to know each other is played out in a matter of minutes. Numbers are exchanged and you go home to wait for this new person, this new potential boyfriend to call.
And then there’s the wait. The first day goes by. And you were sure they were going to call you sometime between 7 and 9 pm that first night. You stuff file folders into your briefcase, telling your boss some made up story why you would work better at home tonight than staying late at the office. You watch “Friends” (remember this is awhile ago – and “Friends” wasn’t a re-run yet) while trying hard not to look at the clock or the phone. The second day comes and goes, and you begin to wonder if maybe you should call them. The third day, you finally go to the laundry mat to do some wash otherwise you’ll be wearing your underwear for three days in a row. You rush home, hoping the red button on your message machine is blinking. Nothing. Day four and five, you begin to practice your “oh, I thought I’d ask whether or not your heard about blab blab” lines over and over, trying to be cool, upbeat, confident and not a stalker. You can do this, you can make that first call – only to chicken out and eat the last bit of Hagen Das Cookie Dough Ice Cream. Day six comes, no phone call from them – but yes your mother calls and wants to know if you could have breakfast tomorrow morning with her and Daddy as they’ll be in town (which everyone knows is the covert language of I’m going to check up on you and try to get you to move back home). Day 7 rolls around, and they are beginning to be a distant memory to you. You’ve got plans for next weekend with the girls involving dancing, drinking and dishing up the gossip. The phone rings……life changes courses and you move forward.
So now if you’re asking yourself what does all of this have to do with the price of tea in China? I’ll tell you. I got to play go see the doctor this week. Remember, I’ve got several new tumors to deal with and got to play pin the tail on the doctor this week. My oncologist tells me I need to see my radiologist, which doesn’t bother me because he’s drop dead gorgeous and I never listen to what he says cause all I can think about is……oh my lord, why couldn’t I be about 10 years younger and 50 lbs lighter. My radiologist refers me to a new radiologist who specializes in bone cancer. (I don’t really like her as she comes in and starts with in a sing song voice – you know you are stage four and you’re going to keep having tumors until….that’s when she realizes she should have had a little bit better bedside manner as the hostility I fell is coming off me in waves). She’s worried about my sternum and whether it can handle another bout of radiation. So Ms. Bone Cancer Radiologist refers me to the Big Machine Radiologist. Now…..just so you know…..this isn’t happening all in one day. I’m schlepping over to Seattle via the ferry each time I see a new doctor. $30 a trip, and over a $100 dollars gone is days, I finally get to meet with the Big Machine Radiologist. I like her immediately. She doesn’t play games and lays the facts out clearly (and analytically – remember I was an accountant in a previous life) so that I can understand them. My sternum can’t take the radiation – but Swedish has a new machine that will direct “a thousand points of light” at my tumors. It’s shaped like a huge arm that moves around the patient. She explains that instead of radiating my whole sternum (which is very bad as what’s going to protect my heart let alone hold up what’s left of my boobs) the machine targets just the tumor. The machine was developed down in California at Stanford and she herself got to use it last year when she was diagnosed with breast cancer that had leached over into her sternum. Lucky me……instead of 2 to 10 minute blasts of radiation to the general area over 20 days, I get to have 60 minutes of intense radiation on just my tumors over 5 days. Woo-hoo, aren’t I lucky.
I know, I know…..what does this have to do with the boyfriend call. I’m getting to it. Ms Big Machine Doctor explains the procedure. I will have surgery to implant 3 pieces of gold into my sternum (ouch). Five days from the surgery, I’ll have another CT Scan to see how big the tumor is and they will use that coupled with my earlier scan to calculate the growth of the tumor. Seven days after the surgery, I begin my 5 days of radiation therapy. The Big Machine uses the gold implants to target the tumors. And here’s where the boyfriend call comes in…… Ms. Big Machine Radiologist tells me, you get to go home and wait until the hospital can arrange a surgical room and get procedure approval from my insurance. The hospital will call you very soon I’m sure. Hmmm, what’s that……what happens if they don’t call? I’m sure they will, however if you don’t hear from a week from today…..call me.
And so I sit…..waiting for the boyfriend to call. The first day, I didn’t go anywhere in fear that I’d miss the call. I’m up to day 4 and now have the irrational fear that my insurance won’t approve the new fangled treatment. Is it “Death Panels” that are holding me up. Each day that goes by, my tumors get larger and larger. And I wait for the phone call. The call that will start the ball moving and hopefully will keep me alive for a little longer.
