Pathology Report

Yesterday, Paul and I were able to go on another date to the Juravinski Centre; we had not been there since my operation on January 21.  It's amazing how quickly the landscapes and settings of life change and how quickly we adjust to them.  Going inside the building felt familiar to us and we recognized the faces of many staff members.

We settled in to the hard waiting room chairs but our wait was not long.

"Brigette?" queried a nurse clutching my file that was getting increasingly larger with time.

We followed her and did the usual weigh-in.  I hate this part.  Before my cancer diagnosis, I had been eating so well and exercising regularly.  Me and my Jillian Michaels work-out videos had long standing dates and I had been "shredding it" and "toning those problem areas" with vigor and zest and awkwardly coordinated limbs.  But once my cancer diagnosis had been confirmed, a sense of despair had been accompanied by .... ice-cream....often.
I was also under the impression that cancer would whittle me away and after my first chemo session, where 5 lbs dropped off me from my explosive nausea, I was convinced.  But the whittling stopped there and the weigh-ins confirmed this with every visit.  The nurse was happy and, truthfully, it was a wonderful thing to have felt as strong as I did during chemo.  But that weigh-scale ........ boo...hiss....couldn't I just tell the nurse I felt okay without a number being assigned?

"Okay, Brigette, step onto the scale." said my nurse readying her pen (Wait!  Did she just check to see that she had enough ink to write down my growing weight amount??  Grr!)

"Just a second," I cheerily replied and stripped off my boots, my jacket, my hat, my scarf, my cell phone....and pondered how appropriate it would be to strip off more clothing items.  I noticed the waiting room quiet down as all eyes turned towards the stripping woman by the weigh scale.  I sighed, sucked in my breath (does that help eliminate pounds?) and stepped gingerly on the scale on my tip-toes....(does that help eliminate pounds?)

"Good job!" said the nurse and scratched down the number.

On to the back room where I slipped into a gown, open in front!  I have learned how to dress in this hospital, even if it did take a little extra time.

Enter Dr. Hodgson.

She flipped open my file and read out my pathology report.  Interesting side-note here is that Wikipedia tells me that the word pathology comes from the Ancient Greek root "pathos" which means "experience" or "suffering" and that "logia" means "study of".  So the report being read was a report on the study of my experiences or suffering.  Hmm....interesting thought and that file seems awfully thin to have a full report on my sufferings.....

Dr. Hodgson was speaking so I tuned in.  "So, the chemo did it's job well!  The two tumors that we were most concerned with both shrank.  One was 4cm and the other 4mm!  I removed 11 lymph nodes from under your arm and only 1 was cancerous, the others were clear."

"Soooo......that is good news?" I asked uncertainly.

"Yes, that is great news!" Dr. Hodgson confirmed and both Paul and I broke into huge silly grins.

"You will still need radiation and hormone therapy but everything looks great.  Now let's see how much you can move your arm."

I sat up tall feeling very proud as I moved my arm stiffly up and then to the side.  I felt like I had been doing amazing with my arm workouts.  They were no Jillian Michaels, but she would have been proud at the way I was working that problem area.  Several times I day I would heave my swollen arm awkwardly up and down and to the side.  While I presented my moves to the doctor, I waited to hear her gasp and praise me but I was disappointed to hear her flatly announce, "Mmmm not good enough.  You'll need physio."

"What?  Really?  I thought I was doing great?"  I blurted.  I mean, you should have seen me a few weeks ago!  Lurching and hefting, moaning and wincing would have described my workouts then.

"Nope.  You need to lift your arm up much higher for radiation to occur," Dr. Hodgson announced whilst demonstrating where my arm needed to be.

She scratched out a prescription for physio and then turned back to me.

"Okay.  How are you healing up?"  she leaned in close and opened my hospital gown to examine my healing scar.  It's a beautiful scar, really.  A battle scar sliced like a flat-mouthed smile across my chest where a breast used to be.  My heart beats visibly behind it.  The skin is knitting together so quickly, my body accepting it's new look much faster than the rest of me.

"Looking good." stated Dr. Hodgson and soon she wrapped up our visit.

My suffering had been studied and the diagnosis was looking good.  The conclusion of our visit pointed Paul and I towards our next destination.  No, not just the parking garage but onwards towards radiation and hormone therapy.

On the car ride home, we discussed everything.  The positive pathology report.  My need for physio to get that arm up higher.  This crazy cancer journey.

"We should pray!" I said, "this is great news after all!"

"Yes," agreed Paul, "but I will keep my eyes open since I'm driving, okay?"

"Of course." I giggled and began to pray.  Giving thanks to God for great news, crying out to Him with depressing news, calling on Him for strength in the face of hard news.....these are things we can do with our eyes wide open.


"Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever."
Psalm 136: 1