I just got out of the hospital on Monday. I was in since the previous Wednesday. Back in mid March while I was out in Arizona visiting dear friends, I noticed some blood in my sputum when showering. This occurred two mornings in a row. Since last Fall, I had also noticed some blood in my sputum while showering...but since that time, never two mornings in a row. Yes, silly me. Of course I gave myself permission to forget how many times this happened between the Fall and just recently; all I knew was that my annual physical was the day after I returned home from Arizona....
About five minutes before my physical exam was over, I told my primary care physician (PCP) how I noticed some blood mixed in with my flem when I coughed. She immediately set up a CT (Cat) scan for me. Since I had a history with lung nodules (going back to 2006/7), I didn't think anything of it. When the results came back, the radiologist who read my CT scan results and my PCP referred me to a pulmonologist. This was not good news. I kinda sorta freaked out. And then the journey nobody wants, least of all me, began...
I ended up seeing a pulmonologist in Ann Arbor who requested I go through a battery of procedures during the same week. Easter Sunday morning I found myself having a PET scan. Me being the overthinker that I am, decided that I shouldn't have to undergo any of the other procedures until we were 100% certain that the PET scan results indicated the need for them. My pulmonologist was smarter than that. When my husband and I showed up for our meeting regarding the PET scan results two days after my PET scan and one day before my scheduled biopsy and subsequent bronchoscopy a day after that---she confirmed our worst fears. They had found another "something" in the lower left lobe of my lung that was bigger and more defined than the pre-existing nodule that's been sitting there for the past eight years. As such, no skipping out on the biopsy or the bronchoscopy for me...
After the week was finished, my pulmonologist met with us again. This time, she told us I had a carcinoid tumor in the lower left lobe of my lung that was 13mm in diameter. About the size of a marble. Say what? And oh by the way it had to come out because it is/was cancerous. As my husband's face when from fleshtone-to-white in those moments, all I could think of was getting the *&^^$ thing taken out. My pulmonologist also said that carcinoids represented the "best" type of cancer to have. As we found out, carcinoids are very "sluggish" by nature and slow growing; this particular tumor type most often appears in the small intestine or other areas of the gastro-intestinal tract; in my case, it appeared in my lung which is rare. Whatever the case, all of that led to a lower left lobe lobectomy this past Wednesday involving two thoracic surgeons and a robot. When I saw a photo of how my body was positioned on the operating table, it reminded me of all the times I've seen fish laid out at local Farmer's Markets; laid on my side, arms over head, chest out, legs back and basically butt naked. Oh joy.
Cinco de Mayo was yesterday. It was also the day my pathology reports came back regarding the lymph nodes plucked from my lungs for testing last Wednesday. The news was good. No cancer found in my lymph nodes; the cancer I had was caught in time. Out with that lower left lobe and out with the cancer. As a now cancer survivor, it's amazing to think I can say "I had cancer last Wednesday morning, but it was gone after my surgery Wednesday afternoon." I am extremely grateful.
Any unexpected diagnosis has a way of forcing us into thinking about things we'd rather not think about. Always having considered myself spiritually aware and being a woman of faith, I had spent the last month thinking more than I ever have before about life...about death...and about my life and my death. We all are going to die eventually. Some of us sooner than others...some of us quite unexpectedly...and some of us long after death was both expected and welcomed. That's just the way it goes. One of the great lessons I was reminded of throughout my own illness was that making peace with our God----and making peace with whatever outcome occurs---is as necessary as taking each breath that we do each day. Without being able to achieve the peace that surpasses all understanding, we are IMHO in worse shape than our diagnosis dictates. In spite of all the advanced medical technology that exists these days, nobody can "fake" real hope nor can we "fake" real inner peace. Without authentic hope and peace in spite of whatever is going on now or may happen in the future, we will suffer far beyond that which is going on within our physical bodies.
Know God...know peace. No God...no peace. It's that simple.
Until next time...
About five minutes before my physical exam was over, I told my primary care physician (PCP) how I noticed some blood mixed in with my flem when I coughed. She immediately set up a CT (Cat) scan for me. Since I had a history with lung nodules (going back to 2006/7), I didn't think anything of it. When the results came back, the radiologist who read my CT scan results and my PCP referred me to a pulmonologist. This was not good news. I kinda sorta freaked out. And then the journey nobody wants, least of all me, began...
I ended up seeing a pulmonologist in Ann Arbor who requested I go through a battery of procedures during the same week. Easter Sunday morning I found myself having a PET scan. Me being the overthinker that I am, decided that I shouldn't have to undergo any of the other procedures until we were 100% certain that the PET scan results indicated the need for them. My pulmonologist was smarter than that. When my husband and I showed up for our meeting regarding the PET scan results two days after my PET scan and one day before my scheduled biopsy and subsequent bronchoscopy a day after that---she confirmed our worst fears. They had found another "something" in the lower left lobe of my lung that was bigger and more defined than the pre-existing nodule that's been sitting there for the past eight years. As such, no skipping out on the biopsy or the bronchoscopy for me...
After the week was finished, my pulmonologist met with us again. This time, she told us I had a carcinoid tumor in the lower left lobe of my lung that was 13mm in diameter. About the size of a marble. Say what? And oh by the way it had to come out because it is/was cancerous. As my husband's face when from fleshtone-to-white in those moments, all I could think of was getting the *&^^$ thing taken out. My pulmonologist also said that carcinoids represented the "best" type of cancer to have. As we found out, carcinoids are very "sluggish" by nature and slow growing; this particular tumor type most often appears in the small intestine or other areas of the gastro-intestinal tract; in my case, it appeared in my lung which is rare. Whatever the case, all of that led to a lower left lobe lobectomy this past Wednesday involving two thoracic surgeons and a robot. When I saw a photo of how my body was positioned on the operating table, it reminded me of all the times I've seen fish laid out at local Farmer's Markets; laid on my side, arms over head, chest out, legs back and basically butt naked. Oh joy.
Cinco de Mayo was yesterday. It was also the day my pathology reports came back regarding the lymph nodes plucked from my lungs for testing last Wednesday. The news was good. No cancer found in my lymph nodes; the cancer I had was caught in time. Out with that lower left lobe and out with the cancer. As a now cancer survivor, it's amazing to think I can say "I had cancer last Wednesday morning, but it was gone after my surgery Wednesday afternoon." I am extremely grateful.
Any unexpected diagnosis has a way of forcing us into thinking about things we'd rather not think about. Always having considered myself spiritually aware and being a woman of faith, I had spent the last month thinking more than I ever have before about life...about death...and about my life and my death. We all are going to die eventually. Some of us sooner than others...some of us quite unexpectedly...and some of us long after death was both expected and welcomed. That's just the way it goes. One of the great lessons I was reminded of throughout my own illness was that making peace with our God----and making peace with whatever outcome occurs---is as necessary as taking each breath that we do each day. Without being able to achieve the peace that surpasses all understanding, we are IMHO in worse shape than our diagnosis dictates. In spite of all the advanced medical technology that exists these days, nobody can "fake" real hope nor can we "fake" real inner peace. Without authentic hope and peace in spite of whatever is going on now or may happen in the future, we will suffer far beyond that which is going on within our physical bodies.
Know God...know peace. No God...no peace. It's that simple.
Until next time...