A Spring of Joy

Yesterday I began the barrage of tests, scans, ultrasounds, injections, questions and waiting. And I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, so I just did both.

After a lengthy drive filled with me singing at the top of my lungs to songs on my iPod, I arrived at the hospital (not the one I normally go to) for my appointment. I was having an ultrasound of my neck in order for them to see if they could locate any remaining thyroid tissue from my thyroidectomy 10 years ago. They took me back quickly into the dungeon radiology, and it all went downhill from there.

The technician was a nice older woman with a smoker’s cough and a coarse exterior, but she was very personable. Maybe too personable, when after getting me comfortable on my gurney and prepping my neck, she started to dance. You know, crossing her legs, jittery movements. Finally she put the ultrasound wand down and said, “I gotta pee.”

(At the risk of sounding non-PC, just think about all of this done with a very hick, not southern, accent. If you don’t know the difference, I’m not sure what to tell you.)

I smiled, unable to move my head because of the goop all over my neck.

But she kept going, “If I don’t go pee now, I’m gonna spend the whole time dancing and not get what I need.”

Uh, okay. You go do your thing, lady. So she did. In the very next room where I could hear everything. And trust me, I listened real hard to be sure she washed her hands!

“MUCH better.” she chortled as she emerged from the bathroom. She started scanning my neck and taking pictures when there was a knock on the door and another person entered.

“Oh, Hiiiiiii.” my friendly technician said. “I’m almost done.” Then she turned back to me and said, “This is our student. She missed everything I’ve done, so I’m just gonna start all over.”

Right. You just go right ahead and redo everything while I lay in this uncomfortable position and have you press down so hard on my neck and throat that I see stars again. Not a problem at all.

Oh, and it got better. Throughout the whole re-scanning procedure, she explained everything she was doing to the student. Only explaining everything sounded something like this.

“Okay, this here looks like it could be a lymph node, but it might be a parathyroid gland, or something else. Well, really I’m not sure what that is, so I’m just gonna zoom in and take a picture of it.”

Repeat about ten times.

By that point, I was almost in tears wanting to shout, “Helloooooooo!! Cancer patient here. Anything you say ‘I don’t know what that is’ about screams ‘TUMOR’ to me.” I am convinced that doctors, nurses, technicians, etc. really need to learn to speak a whole different language to cancer patients because every single question raised means facing the fear of recurrence.

Finally, the technician turned to me, smiled and said, “Honey, don’t mind us. I do a lot of talking and mostly it means nothing. Well, some of it means nothing. Nevermind. I don’t know what I’m saying half the time.”

Thanks. Now I’m really reassured that I’m in competent hands.

Well, all I can say now is that there is one down and the waiting begins. It will be mid-week before I find anything out about the results. Am praying that I will hear His voice and know His presence as I wait.

Oh, and can I just add it’s really hard to drive on the interstate while “Shackles” by Mary, Mary is on repeat on my iPod?

How do you dance and drive at the same time?

In the corners of mind
I just can’t seem to find a reason to believe
That I can break free
Cause you see I have been down for so long
Feel like the hope is gone
But as I lift my hands, I understand
That I should praise you through my circumstance

Take the shackles off my feet so I can dance
I just wanna praise you
I just wanna praise you
You broke the chains now I can lift my hands
And I’m gonna praise you
I’m gonna praise you

Praising Him in my circumstances today!