Be Present

The alarm goes off at 5:00 am this morning, and I roll over to see the sun preparing to rise outside, listening to the birds already singing out their morning wake-up calls.  I close my eyes again and sigh, inhaling deeply – spring is finally in the air.  I take a moment to appreciate the moment and a new morning, before my eyes fly open and I remember the day.

Another Manic Monday.

I got a call last Wednesday afternoon from UofM to discuss scheduling an appointment with the surgeon who would be performing my mastectomy.  After a brief conversation with Betty regarding my current treatment status and recent scans, she informed me they wanted to see me next Monday for – again – the All Day Clinic.  But before they could do that, they needed my two most recent CT scans – on disk.  And while UofM can get electronic reports from my hospital and oncology center, they cannot get images and scans.  No – I would need to pick them up from my hospital and bring them to Ann Arbor, preferably NOW, so they could be loaded into the system and the radiologist could read them prior to tumor board and clinic the following Monday.

What I don’t tell Betty is that when she called (at 1:30 in the afternoon) I had just stepped into an important meeting with my director, only to politely step out to take her call.  I am all kinds of annoyed.  Seriously – you need them today?  I ask if I can bring them tomorrow and Betty says they need to have them today to have them uploaded tomorrow, so no – they need them tonight.  Or, more precisely, before the office closes at 5:00 pm.  I mention where I’m sitting at the present moment (looking out my sixth-floor window and wondering if I could magically grow wings or learn to teleport in the next few minutes) and I hear the crickets chirping at the other end of the phone.  I sigh, and promise to have the disk to her by 5:00.  In turn, she promises to call me later in the afternoon with the time of the appointment on Monday.

I call my hospital and ask for copies of the disks; they can’t guarantee they’ll be ready by 3:00 but they’ll do their best.  I return to my meeting, beyond frustrated.  I can’t concentrate on the task at hand because my life is once again disrupted by cancer and inconsideration and rudeness and poor planning not on MY part…  *sigh*

I reach for the chain around my neck and stroke the pendants that hang there every day, and protect me every night.  I breathe deeply, I let it go, I get back to this moment.

Leaving work at 3:00, I fly (alas, not literally) to Jackson to pick up the disk, and arrive at the Cancer Center at 4:45 pm.  Surprise – everyone except the intake receptionist has left for the day, including Betty.  So – I probably could have gotten the disk to her at 8:00 am the next morning, but okay, I’m already here and the task is done.

Success.

Whatever.

Late the next afternoon I receive another call from a friendly voice at UofM, reminding me of my appointment at 9:45 on Monday morning, and another appointment at 2:30 on Monday afternoon.

“I don’t have an appointment yet,” I say to the caller.  She informs me the appointment was made late yesterday afternoon and I was informed of this via phone call.  I really, REALLY want to argue with her – nay, I want to bitch-slap UofM for that poor planning and inconsideration thing, but instead I just let it go…

Two appointments on Monday, five hours apart?  I ask the caller if there’s any way the appointments can be closer together so I don’t have to take an entire day off work.  “No, sorry,” she says.  “It’s Clinic Day, that’s how the appointments are scheduled.”

Clinic Day?  No, no, no…no.  I did Clinic Day three months ago, for the second opinion.  I don’t need to do another Clinic Day – do I?  But after talking with yet another scheduler, I am informed that yes, I do need to do another Clinic Day, which will start with a mammogram at 9:45 am, and a meeting with my surgeon Dr. S at 2:30.

I laugh out loud.  A mammogram to see the cancer that has never, ever, EVER showed up on a mammogram – not the first time, not the second time, not after a wire was placed directly into it.  I tell the scheduler this, she doesn’t seem to care.

So basically this will be a waste of everyone’s time.  And a half day off work I just can’t afford to take.

Can’t wait to say, “I told you so.”

I spin around in frustration, fire off a nasty text to Ken to let him know he needs to up-end his whole world, too, and after a minor temper tantrum I set myself straight and get back to work.

Friday through Sunday Ken and I spend in Traverse City with Stephanie and Josh.  We relax, we splash in the lake, we explore restaurants and vineyards and distilleries and downtown shops.  We drink, we laugh, we get sunburned.  But most of all, we Live.  In the quiet moments in between, in the joy of simply being together, we live beautifully and fully, grateful for and present in each and every moment.  Sunday afternoon comes much too soon and our mini-vaca ends – but I take the happiness home in my heart.

Today was Clinic Day.  The first mammogram ended with – surprise – nothing showing up.  An hour later the second mammogram – different machine, different angles, more pain and frustration – and hopefully something showed up.  I was never told.  Three hours later we’re released for lunch and a quick visit with my parents, and then we’re back at 2:30 to meet the surgeon.

It’s a quick meeting, meant to discuss the mammogram and schedule the upcoming surgery.  Instead, we’re told the surgery can’t be scheduled until their radiologist has a chance to compare and contrast the two most recent CT scans.

Disks of which I dropped off five days ago.  Because it was urgent they be loaded into the system on Thursday in preparation for this very moment.

Uh-huh.  Well.  Okay.

The problem lies in two areas on the new CT scan that are confusing and require further evaluation.  Long story short – Ken and I met with our oncologist a week ago ostensibly to discuss a transfusion.  Bloodwork showed my hemoglobin was really low, but not quite at the point where he wanted to do a transfusion (so no goblins for me!)  He did, however, bring up the CT and pulled out the results.  He let us know he contacted the radiologist directly to discuss the report and asked for an addendum.  Good news – everything that was there before, is now gone.  The radiologist attributes previous lung lesions to inflammation/infection and radiation fibrosis.  His report noted no hilar or mediastinal lymph nodes present.  On the other hand – there’s a new lesion in the lung.  And an area in the anterior mediastinum that was previously 1.3 cm (which, in the previous report, was noted as being a mediastinal lymph node) that is now 1.6 cm.  The radiologist gives lots of radiology-speak and ultimately determines this could be a goiter (holy cow!!)…..or a mediastinal lymph node.  But……you just said there were no enlarged lymph nodes……to which my oncologist replied, “I’m not a radiologist, I’m not sure what this means, but if another radiologist were to give you an opinion on this, I’d be happy to hear it. For now, I’m not concerned.”

Well okie-dokie then – we won’t be concerned, either.  But thanks for the suggestion – we’ll be bringing this up with the radiologist at UofM…

…which brings us right back to where we are right now.  Besides the goiter/lymph node thingy in the middle of my chest, UofM is also concerned with an area in my left axilla – under my arm where lymph nodes were previously removed to check for spreading cancer.  The radiologist notes a 1.5 cm area that “could be a seroma, or a hematoma, but a lymph node cannot be ruled out.”

Erg.  We got answers…but also maybe a couple more questions.  Or, at least, more stuff to explore.

We’re not concerned, or worried, or afraid, or even Going There.  Because it’s too important to focus on and be present in this moment, right now.  We smile and say, “Okay, sounds good,” when the surgeon promises to call in a couple of days with a surgery date, after the radiologist has reviewed and consulted on the films.  We’ll hear from him when it’s time.

We drive home and talk about tomorrow – the sixth (and final!!) chemo.  My mother asked me earlier if I was excited, and without thinking I say, “No.”  Ken and my father laugh in understanding; my lovely mother was confused.  I smile and tell her gently that yes, I’m excited for it to all be over with, but no, I’m not looking forward to going into those days of feeling really crappy – even if it’s the last time (I swear it’s the last time).

I notice myself stroking my pendants again.  I breathe deeply and consciously let go of the dread and fear about tomorrow, and instead focus on the beautiful day that is unfolding as Ken and I drive home.  Blue skies punctuated by fluffy white clouds to our left, dark clouds swooping in to our right.  Raindrops fall from time to time as Ken and I alternate between chatting, and silent thought.

Stephanie made this pendant for me last weekend; her friend K mentioned that during yoga class I talk about being “present in the moment”, and that it’s a challenge we struggle with every day. The past is already gone; we cannot change it but we can learn from it.  We can plan for but cannot control the future, and even the best laid plans can go awry.  All we have is this moment, right now, in which to live fully and freely.

So when I feel the frustration setting in about having cancer yet again…or the need to influence the appointments and surgery and every moment of every day, I am reminded to Be Present.  In those moments I am able to breathe deeply and freely, and can let it all go, finding much joy in the moment. There is a sense of freedom and peace in accepting that I have little to no impact over those things that are not in my control.

This is the gift of the present.

Tomorrow is another day.