As you all know, Eliot the Cat's birthday is a big deal around the Doan household. On 15 September, Ruth and I were preparing the celebrate his 17th bday, but I was also trying to bump up an appointment with my GP that I had made to discuss some abdominal discomfort I'd been having for about a month.
The abdominal stuff hadn't been slowing me down too much, some pain under my ribs on the right side, a day here and there feeling a little under the weather and achy. I knew my doctor would ask me the usual questions, so during the weeks preceding the scheduled appointment, I had given up booze for a week (no change), gluten for 3 weeks (no change) diary for a few days (no change) and started taking an over the counter antacid (no change). A quick google search revealed this was likley a gallbladder issue.
My doctors office couldn't fit me in for an earlier appointment, so they suggested I visit the very nearby Urgent Care, which the well-to-do Evanson class accesses frequently and with ease for a variety of non-life-threatening ailments. Around 1030 AM I left my office and strolled into Urgent Care. I was seen within minutes, and the Doc on site agreed that my complaints sounded like a gall bladder issue, but lamented that the facility did not have an ultrasound onsite. He recommended I hop on the purple line to NorthShore University Hospital, where it might take a couple hours, but they should get me all sorted out.
About 30 minutes later, I was chillin' in the waiting room of the ER at NorthShore, chugging water in hopes of having a successful pee-in-a-cup, and texing my boss that I might miss our 2pm meeting. They eventually got me into a gown and a room, where the Doc on site agreed that my gallbladder was probably the nuisance here, and that they'd get me in for an ultrasound to confirm.
Fast forward a couple hours and they wheel me into an ultrasound room to take a look. The technician starts off pretty friendly and then gets real quiet. He takes about 124097291 images of my abdomen and I can hear the click of the screen grab every time. At this point I'm pretty sure whatever he's looking at is NOT GOOD. He asks a couple questions about where I live and where I work, a couple more about my family history, takes 230957 more pics, and then hangs up his wand and sends me back to my room.
Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool.
The Doctor comes back in and says something vague about the ultrasound and "spots on my liver" and lets me know they are sending me up for a CT scan to "get a better look." CT Scan is quick and painless and they wheel me back, not a whole lot of information being exchanged.
Soon after I get back to my room, Ruth arrives and I recount the last few hours, letting her know that "there are some spots on my liver?" and they did a "CT scan to get a better look?". We are getting a little scared, but I am also hungry. I left my office at 10ish, and now its 6ish and I'm still in the hospital.
The Doctor returns looking a little deflated. He sits down in a chair and lets me know that that the CT scan showed the same as the ultrasound. "A lot of dark spots on the liver" and that he's getting a room ready for me in the hospital, because they want me to stay the night to get me in for a liver biopsy in the morning. Also, due to COVID, visiting hours are over at 7.
Clearly, I'm not really in a position to debate this decision to stay the night, and I'm obviously upset that Ruth can't stay past 7, and I'm also still hungry. Ruth makes a quick run to get me dinner while I wait for my room. (Because she's a queen, she also drove home and packed me an overnight bag with a phone charger and PJs and all that and dropped it off that night to the desk).
I know this is getting long. Don't worry, I'm wrapping up.
Around 8:00- 8:30, they move me to a room for the night. I open up my dinner and have a few uninterrupted moments of eating until the parade of nurses checking vitals begins. Shortly after, Nurses give way to Doctor's with somber faces.
One sits down in a chair across from my bed. My Chipotle sits to the side, half eaten.
"How are you doing?" She says. "This must feel like a lot."
I nod, side-eying my Chipotle.
"We are going to try to get you in for that biopsy first thing in the morning. Because these dark spots are most likley cancer, its important that we move fast."
"Oh." I say. "They didn't tell me that downstairs."
Her face collapses. "I'm so sorry." She says. "The ER physician should have communicated that to you."
-
There's more to the story of how I spent two days waiting in the hospital for the biopsy, how the next morning I had to break the news to Ruth that it was "most likely" cancer (and that she already knew, because she knows how to use the internet), how the biopsy confirmed looooots of tumors in the liver, and that further tests confirmed that they spread to the liver from a hearty little tumor in the colon. But you don't need all those details.
For the record, we did eventually celebrate Eliot's birthday a few days late. The good news is that he's a cat and had no idea it was his birthday to begin with.
XOXO
JD
Post Script: This is the place where we will share updates. We are trying to centralize communication to free up a little bandwidth on our end. We have recieved countless messages and we truly appreciate all the love and support. Keep those good vibes, CareBear Stares, and prayers coming.
We have more information about next steps, but I wanted to start with a litle orientation post. If you check back, and don't see new information, just remember No News Is Good News.
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