Winner Take Nothing

A few days after the confusion of the last visit, I received a call from the second surgeon. She informed me she had sent the pathology reports to her pathologist whose diagnosis differed a great deal from the first report. It appeared that the second pathologist did not feel that the tumor, though unusually large, was malignant. This changed everything.

When I met with the second doctor again she felt confident that her pathologist's findings of a benign tumor were solid. This meant that, even though the tumor had to come out because of its size, I could postpone it for awhile, have only the diseased half removed, not have to take synthetic thyroid replacement and, best of all, avoid radiation treatment altogether. I was cautiously optimistic. After a lifetime of having metaphorical rugs pulled out from under me, I knew enough to keep my relief to a minimum. Again, my inherently cynical nature proved correct and saved me from extreme disappointment.

A few days after receiving that news, my original surgeon called. He said that he received the new pathology reports and did not agree with them. He said that he felt very strongly that the tumor was malignant and needed to be removed in its entirety with follow up of radiation. He personally wanted to make sure that I was going to follow up on it and not just take the benign diagnosis at face value. Well, crap.

Now at an impasse, I am confused to the point where I have dissociated completely from the situation. I will have another lymph node scan in August and pending the results, will plan for another biopsy after baby comes. I prefer to think of it as future Jen's problem and I have confidence that she will deal with it just fine. As for present Jen, I'm going to enjoy my pregnancy to the best of my ability because I know that it will be my last.

Lymphatic Overachiever

After nearly an hour of scanning my lymph nodes and making disconcerting sounds, the ultrasound tech said that a doctor would be in to talk with me. Super. My husband and I sat fretting in the dark, stifling room wondering what fresh hell the doctor might be looking at. After a few minutes a J-Crew-esque man strode in with a clipboard. He asked me when I had my thyroid surgery. While my mind said a string of expletives that may still be hanging in space over the hospital, my mouth said, "I have not had any thyroid surgery. Do you have the correct chart?" I could not believe that so many people could get such seemingly simple information so astoundingly incorrect.

He frowned at his chart and and mumbled something. I told him the whole sordid affair and we eventually ended up on the same page, figuratively. He said that all of my lymph nodes were clear of any malignancies (yay!), but interestingly, I had several more lymph nodes than normal people possess. How could I be surprised at this, given all my other medical abnormalities? I asked him if this was a problem or if it somehow led to me being in this particular situation. He said that while having so many nodes was unusual, it wasn't to blame for any of my problems. I then questioned how I came to have so many lymph nodes. "You are just an overachiever," he informed me. Oh dude, if you only knew.

This lack of concrete answers to my various bizarre organ issues led me to think up several scenarios of my own. I asked around my family to see if I ever lived near a nuclear reactor, lived under power lines or ingested a large amount of paint chips, though no one could confirm any of these. I prefer to think that, in-utero, I had a twin and I ate him/her to retain my supremacy and will eventually rule the galaxy with my superpowers. We'll see how that works out for me.

OMG, Get Bill!

So, after the previous occupant was shuffled hastily from the ultrasound room, I was plopped in the chair. The doctor lubed up my neck with ultrasound jelly and took at gander at the beast within. She mumbled some things to herself and then called for her nurse. "Hey, where's Bill? Get him in here, he needs to see this!" I couldn't move my neck, so I couldn't share a bewildered glance with my husband. The nurse returned with the Bill in question and also the aforementioned Dr. Christian Brooks-Brothers-Izod. The doctor again called out for someone else to be brought in to view whatever the hell is lurking in my neck.

I was reminded of an In Living Color sketch with David Alan Grier--the gist of which revolved around giant hemorrhoids, his ass exposed, and a clueless nurse that kept calling people in to look at them, including the janitor. I honestly had to fight the urge to crack up and probably looked like a mental case at that moment. The doc was talking in doctor-ese and pointing out all kinds of things about my apparently giant and fascinating tumor. As quickly as I was pulled into the room, I was shuttled out and told to go to the 4th floor to have a scan of all my lymph nodes. The 4th floor is where I met Daniella, who so eerily resembled Tangina from Poltergeist that I was momentarily speechless when she called out my name (thank God my name isn't Carol Anne). She had a thick French accent and a matching thick French attitude.

"Why are you here?" she barked at me. I told her that my doctor had sent me up to have a scan of my lymph nodes. "I know that. What are we scanning?" "Ummm...my lymph nodes?" She asked again what we were scanning and why I was there. I asked her if perhaps I was in the wrong place and she assured me that I was not. The conversation stalled from there....

She had what I assumed was my chart in front of her and after being called Robin earlier in the morning, I was hesitant to trust anything anyone said. She took me back to the scanning room and asked me when I had my thyroid removed. Are you freaking kidding me? "I haven't had it removed. I have a tumor on it and was told to come here and have my lymph nodes scanned. That is all I know. I don't know what else to tell you." She made a harrumph-ish noise told me to lie down on the bed. I stood there debating whether to leave or do as she commanded. I thought French people were supposed to sound sexy, she sounded decidedly unsexy and pretty much terrifying. I decided to go ahead and lie down, if nothing more, just to see what the hell could possibly happen next.

I'm a Stranger Here Myself....

The surgeon at the first hospital sent my records to the second hospital for my second opinion. In a completely unprecedented move, they called me a few hours later and got me in the next day. I wasn't sure whether to be glad or terrified. I was now going to a specialist who worked on nothing but thyroid problems and specialized in thyroid cancer. I felt comfortable with her level of expertise and was curious to see what they had to say.

My husband was able to accompany me to this visit, which was nice since it not only was an hour away in a sprawling, mega-hospital, but would entail an entire day of tests, scans and prodding. We arrived at the appointment on time and waited for my name to be called. When I was finally called back we were put in a room with very off-putting machinery and equipment designed to go up your nose or down your throat. I felt I would politely decline either option if asked.

A young, blonde frat-boy looking resident came in clutching a clipboard and chewing gum. I know I shouldn't judge someone on how they look, but the kid reeked of elitism and expensive hair product. Also, his first name was Christian, which also made me dislike him. I know. I'm a jerk, but he was poster child for an Ivy league upbringing and looked like he loved nothing more than abusing the staff at the country club. I may be judgmental, but I'm often correct. He strode into the room, looked at me and said, "Robin?" Um. No. Not even close.

He looked perplexed, glanced at his clipboard, the room number and back to me. He mumbled an apology and left. My husband and I knew that this was the precursor for a bizarre and stressful day. Another 15 minutes passed and Dr. Christian ShoeTassels returned after, I'm guessing, taking care of Robin.

He got my name correct and began asking me about my previous pancreatic surgery, interrupting every sentence with medical jargon questions to which I did not have the answers. He then described my current tumor and asked what my plans were. Um, that's what I'm here to discuss. He said that it looked like the tumor was not a big deal, very common and I might not even need to have it removed.

All of this was news to me, but it made me feel a little relieved, albeit skeptical. Dr. Christian Fancyslacks didn't seem terribly trustworthy, so I reserved a full-fledged sigh of relief. He said that the surgeon would be in to see me in a few minutes and left.

The surgeon came in a few seconds later and began questioning me in rapid-fire succession. She was a tiny little thing, with a slightly clipped Asian accent. I actually really liked her right off the bat. She took one look at my neck and said that she wanted to do an ultrasound now, as in this very second. She yelled at the nurse to get the current patient out of the ultrasound room and get her equipment ready. A confused patient was yanked out of the darkened ultrasound room and my husband and I were herded in. This was all very strange indeed....