Life is What Happens
They say life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. I say life is what happens when you’re trying desperately not to make medical appointments.
Remember how I wanted the month of August off? Well, I have four new appointments now, five total. The one with Dr. Oncologist has been on the books for about a week. And the rest are all a result of seeing Dr. Pulmonologist yesterday.
We discussed the nodule that showed up on my last CT, and he went over the images with me and Dan.
Before I lose everyone who’s tired of the medical crap and the anxiety stuff, a plug for the GoFundMe again. Things are about to get hella more expensive. Currently in the works: a lung function test, a CT and pre-admission testing for a lung biopsy, the actual lung biopsy, and a follow-up with Dr. Pulmonologist.
Oy.
“All of this is necessary, right?” I asked Dan while he got Moana rolling for me. (Watching makes me feel better.) I knew the answer, but needed Dan to confirm because I really do not want to do any of this. I’m looking for excuses.
“Yes. Listen to your doctors, Swiss,” he said while angling the TV toward the bed.
Dr. Pulmonologist is another of the good ones, by the way. I’ve been really lucky since we moved at the end of 2022.
Unfortunately, the string of bad doctors I encountered prior to my brain cancer diagnosis in 2017 really set the tone for my growing anxiety. I try to remember now to be fair to new doctors and to myself, but sometimes the body and the anxious brain just go on autopilot. I get all panicky without justification.
That’s probably all clear and I’m overexplaining myself. That’s the anxiety. It overexplains symptoms too. Trying to figure out how to be heard at doctor appointments will fuck you up, kids. Bad.
I’m working on it. Still. In fact, I think the only reason I made it through yesterday was because I was working on it by listening to a podcast episode from Tara Brach called Embodied Presence (Part 2).
Give it a listen if you’re dealing with chronic pain, emotional trauma, or if you want to understand how to deal with either or both for future reference. If I try to paraphrase, the good bits of her talk will be lost, and I will be writing this blog post forever.
Buckle in or bail, y’all. I’m not editing this for meanders.
One of the more incredible moments from yesterday came when I was describing my symptoms and my anxiety. I relayed to the doctor how I felt my shallow breathing and excessive fatigue were probably related to my anxiety, the pain in my muscles, and the swollen abdomen from an extreme bout with IBS.
You know what he said? He said, “You didn’t ask for this and it’s my job to do the worrying here.”
I might have cried if I could believe my own ears.
He also reminded me how closely IBS and anxiety were connected and assured me there were things that could help me breathe easier once we knew what we were dealing with.
This might all seem very obvious to others, I don’t know, but to me and my anxiety it was a revelation.
So, anyway, the nodule is on my right lobe and is about 9mm—smaller than the cheerio but bigger than the head of the thumbtack on the poster hanging on the back of the exam room door.
If the nodule goes away*, they won’t need to do the robot-assisted bronchoscopy. Cross your fingers, toes, eyeballs, hearts, and whatever else you got, people.
* Possible if it’s from an infection or something, but not likely.
