So begins the adventure of telling my most recent story. This is a chapter I never thought I would write. But one that I am embracing and going to figure out as I go along. Writing has always been a secret love of mine. One I put on the shelf a long time ago. At an age when you think things are dumb and that you aren’t any good at them. Well the branch has been shook and I’m picking up the apples. Some are bruised. Let’s see what happens.

I’ll be taking the next few days to recount the past four weeks to get to the present…..

May 20, 2020

I went to my doctor to figure out what in the world was going on with me. Two plus months of quarantine and I thought I had a lingering pinched nerve in my neck. But my breathing had recently become labored, a rough cough took hold, and of course….I thought I had Covid 19. Honestly I was sure of it. When you convince yourself of something it becomes true, right? What else could it be. The whole world was just waiting to get it. And I had it.

By that afternoon I was questioning my self-credentialed MD when an x-ray revealed a ‘BIG mass’ in my chest. I had left my primary doc’s office to have blood work and a chest x-ray to ‘rule out the big stuff’. I can’t say that my nerves weren’t a bit on edge as I waited in the changing cubby outside the x-ray room thinking of Covid, cancer, death, brain tumors – all the ‘big stuff’. I put my top back on and the nurse came in twice to apologize for the wait. At that point I was mildly sweating, analyzing my own breathing patterns, and Googling Make-A-Wish to see if I could be the first 43 year old to get to meet Mickey Mouse…..

“Your doctor is on the phone, she would like to talk to you.” Oh lordy Moses. “Rachel, they found a BIG mass in your chest. I’m so sorry. I need you to go to the hospital to have a CT scan so we can see what this is.”

I hung up the phone with tears in my eyes. Totally peeved about this damn Covid mask and my COPD style breathing. This. Is. Not. Happening.

It was a long walk out of the hospital. I am surprised I remembered where I parked. This. Is. Not. Happening. I called Joel and broke the news. This. Is. Not. Happening. I started my car and backed out of my spot and was half way home on the highway when I decided to call my Mom. She’s been through the ringer and back with her own health, and I would always scold her for holding back and not telling me bad news or how her doctors visits went.

She took a deep breath and 2 hours later met me in the parking lot of the hospital ER. She and my Pop just waiting there to let me know ‘we got you’. They were both wearing oversized plastic rainbow rings – the kind they put on cupcakes and give out at themed birthday parties. I was like Mom, I’m straight! LOL. She put one on my finger and said this is a symbol of hope.

Covid has made a wanker of everything ‘normal’. I’m not sure what normal really means these days or if I even want to be associated with it, but when you are carrying a ‘BIG mass’ in your chest and you have to go to the ER, normal works. Joel coming in with me works. Mom and Dad in the waiting room works. But nothing was normal and I waved goodbye to my parents and was escorted in by a nurse. Alone.

My ER nurse was named Jackie. Nurse Jackie. Somehow I end up relating most situations in my life to a scene from a movie or an episode of Seinfeld. Reference earlier paragraph for my thoughts on ‘normal’. Nurse Jackie was young and sweet and not on any drugs to my knowledge. And she was better than a flight attendant handing out peanuts when it came to showing me the secret ER potty. Did you know every ER room has a secret potty? Thank god it was only for #1. But a #2 would have made for a very funny story. More on Nurse Jackie later…..

Wheeling into the CT scan was pretty surreal. I gave two Top Gun Maverick thumbs up salutes to Nurse Jackie and she gave ’em right back to me. The ceiling of the CT room had three graphic panels over the fluorescent lights. It was a garden scene with a pond. It looked like a hybrid of a basement Bob Ross painting and homemade stained glass hobby project, but I’ll give them a solid C for effort in the anti-anxiety department. Can you imagine the thoughts that people have had looking up at those lights? Am I dying? Am I cured? I was actually more concerned about if I could hold my breath at the right times during the scan and getting scolded by the wizard running the machine. Rule followers worry about these things.

Nurse Jackie came back in to my ER room and said her shift was ending and she was sorry that I had to be there alone and that she would keep in touch with the doctor about my scan results. Her concern was real and it touched me. I thanked her for showing me how to use the secret potty and she refilled my water cup with more crushed ice. Something about crushed ice. It is far superior than cubed. When in a foam cup. It lasts forever and becomes the delightful soothing slush crush of a snow cone without any juice. Sorry Earth. I am a responsible sworn-in citizen of the planet and have a reusable water bottle. I promise.

By the time the doctor came back to my room I had completed a totally random text conversation with my ex husband. He was redoing our old kitchen and sending me progress pics. It was oddly calming to me to have this exchange. I felt some guilt in not telling him where I was, but what would be the point. I’d meet my fate soon enough. Let’s talk about paint colors. Agreeable Gray goes with EVERYTHING.

“I’m so sorry.” He opened the radiology report on the computer screen in front of me. “The mass is LARGE and is causing significant pressure on your heart and lungs. You have fluid on both. Your left lung is not at full function. The radiologist indicates that this is lymphoma.” My Covid COPD fish out of water breathing shallowed even further than before. The doctor continued. “If you were my wife or daughter I would admit you immediately. We need to biopsy and confirm the radiologist’s findings. I’m so sorry you are here by yourself.” Thank you Covid. You continue to be the turd in the punch bowl of 2020.

My hospital room had a view and my primary doc had encouraged me to pack a bag. I navigated putting on some PJs while wheeling my IV around this foreign space and then I started dialing. Joel first, he has my heart. Mom and Dad second, I knew they could wait a little longer and would have the most questions. I felt an odd sense of peace as I made those calls. I’m getting answers. Just not the ones I wanted. We all absorbed the shock together and we all felt it separately. I don’t know how much my Mom cried that night after we hung up the phone and I don’t know how I was able to stay so calm.

I am not sure you could classify what I did that night as sleeping. They wake you up frequently to check your vitals, take your temp, take your blood, make every control in the room beep. All solid reminders that you are not in your own bed with your own pup snuggled up at your toes, and not wearing bright yellow standard hospital issued gripper socks. At some point in the early morning I sat up from this fog and looked over at the window. My overnight bag was sitting on the couch and next to it was another bag that I didn’t recognize. Of course my first thought was THIEF! Wait, it was an additional bag. My bag was still there. Jesus Rachel get it together. I got out of bed and tried not to rip the tangled vacuum cord of my IV out of my arm. Wheeling over to ‘the bag’ that the intruder had left, I was so curious. On top of the bag was a folded sheet of printer paper turned into a homemade card. Nurse Jackie. Tears welled in my eyes knowing she really did feel bad that she was going off shift without knowing what my CT results were and knowing that I was there by myself facing some serious unknowns. The bag had a warm fuzzy blanket, chapstick, lotion, a notebook and pen and her handwritten note telling me it was all going to be ok. Thank you Nurse Jackie. Nurses are very special people.