Dr. Music was amazing. Aside from my dermatologist in Israel, who was in a different class of medicine than is practiced in the US, I haven’t had such a thorough once-over since I saw my high school dermatologist, whose name escapes me right now. She found all kinds of things Dr. Color never noticed. She scoped out a couple of moles, and the next thing I know she has me bent over and is cutting pieces out of my back to be biopsied, with results to be available in. 7-10 days. As they say, the waiting is the hardest part.
And then she asked if anyone had checked my lymph nodes. I looked at her quizzically. “I didn’t know they had to be checked.” They do, apparently, and she did, noting chronically swollen lymph nodes in several parts of my body. “Shotty nodes,” she called them, then used a word for chronically swollen I can’t remember. Much of the conversation sounded like the adults on Peanuts…
waaa wa we waaa
. Until she scared me.
“Whose your oncologist?” she pried. Wouldn’t it have been cooler to ask whose your daddy? I told her, then Dr. Music scared me even more. “These swollen glands, the sore throat, the strange rash, the angioedema. What if they are all related? We have to check it out. “So I need to call my oncologist?” I asked. “No,” she smiled. “I’ll call her. We have to make sure it isn’t something bigger. I think it would benefit you to have a scan…” I know she said more words, but Charlie Brown-parents noises came out of her mouth that I didn’t recognize as a human language.
I didn’t think about it much at all the rest of the day. There were classes to teach and Parent-Teacher Conferences in the evening. Then I noticed the answering machine was blinking, calling to me like an evil spectre. I was a little surprised when I had three messages waiting. Usually I have only one from my mom. “Hi Girzle,” she would sing to the answering machine. “It’s da mumma. Just calling to see how you are.”. But this time it wasn’t my mom. This time “Stephie,” perkily announced that the doctor whose name escapes me would like to see me, (my oncologist) and told me the time and date of my appointment. Didn’t ask, told Next week. Not the week after Right after I move. Because I don’t have enough on my plate right now.
I am trying to keep calm while I wait for the results. One mole the nurse said was at minimum dysplastic. The other was ‘most likely’ dysplastic. I’m cool with the dysplastic, but honest to G-d, I need a break. So please, keep me in your thoughts and prayers, and keep the hits coming. Now, back to the music.