Dying Is Not An Option/Installment -7-
On the first trip to the Mayo Clinic, I was somewhat hesitant to allow myself to actually feel excited or hopeful. I wanted to find an oncologist I felt comfortable with and a home for the long treatments for my disease, but I’d decided I was going to take it slow and easy. “Stay the course, old girl,” was going through my mind, over and over again. “Stay the course. Do not make up your mind about anything, until you feel it.”
In other words, I wasn’t feeling overly hopeful or optimistic, but I soooo . . . wanted to find a specialist and begin to establish a comfortable and long term relationship for my leukemia treatments, as well as other related health issues that might crop up. I wanted and needed a place and specialized people I could trust and park my mind and bodily ship within its port, with complete assurance and confidence that I would be cared for.
Everything I’d read on the web had praised the Mayo Hospitals and clinics, but . . . as we all know, it’s the individuals within the walls of any home who’re responsible for the good or bad feeling one encounters. At the end of the day, it’s those hard-working people who represent our health care systems and who give off the vibes of sincerity and well-being. It’s not the institute’s reputation or their quality of work that makes a home a home.
Danny and I walked through the door to the Mayo, and I exhaled a huge sigh of relief. A man was playing a baby grand piano in the atrium. Not sad music mind you, happy music. People all around us were laughing and talking, and the “hellos” and the “can we help you” were genuine and heartfelt. This place didn’t feel like a home of hushed quiet, but a point of light to begin my healing from. My heart was soaring. So far . . . so good, I thought.
The entry into the Mayo system was made much easier because I’d already been assigned a Mayo number by phone and follow-up appointment schedule. My number and impending oncology appointment was already in the Mayo computers, along with all the lymphatic scans, x-rays, blood tests, and the DVDs of the biopsy tests that had been conducted at the local Prescott offices and Stamford.
The first visit was going smooth. Right on time (impressive). I was ushered into a room to await the oncologist. In under a minute, he appeared at the door, impish grin on his face, and took my hand firmly in his.
“Hello, I’m Doctor R. I’ve been assigned to your case. How’re you feeling today?”
Just like that, he won me over.
He then asked me what I needed from him and the Mayo. He said he understood I was there for a consultation. I asked him if it was possible for me to stay as his patient with the Mayo for my treatment. He chuckled and said, “I have no problem with your staying. Didn’t you like your other oncologist?”
“Nope,” I answered bluntly. “He didn’t ‘get’ me!”
He then said something heart-warming and genuine . . . with just the slightest dance of a twinkle in his eyes, “I Promise. I’ll try very-very hard to get you.”
He went over all the previous reports with me, step by step, and then told me what I’d already surmised. The next step we needed to explore was genetic testing. “It’ll tell us what level you’re at with your leukemia . . . low, medium or high risk,” he said. “Once we establish the level of risk, I’ll be able to plan your course of treatment and provide you with a more accurate prognosis.”
He took the time to explain the various “prognostic markers” of the gene testing that he’d be looking for. Every prognostic marker tells a story and sends up a red flag for the oncologist to take a closer look. The markers provide the oncologist with an overall potential time line (or) longevity level, as well as a patient’s ability to fight back against their CLL/leukemia.
I wanted to know my scientific prognosis, and I wanted to know my approximate time line for living a full and productive life. I know a lot of people may feel differently about finding out their actual prognosis . . . for various reasons, but I’m the type who must know all I can in order to fight back. (I need to know the strength and weakness of my enemy in order to plan an attack.) It’s the way my mind works, and it is . . . what it is . . . for different people, for many reasons. I have no problem with people who wish “not” to know all the facts pertaining to their CLL/leukemia. We must all approach life doing what’s best for our psyches on a person-by-person basis.
I went from the oncology center, down a few floors to the hematology center, where blood was taken in various sized vials for the genetic tests. An appointment for the test results would take place in two weeks. I had found a treatment home, and felt very light-headed and giddy with relief.
From that day on, I would be able ride the storms and turbulent seas that were to come, knowing I would be able to park my leukemia problems at the Mayo’s neutral port, and be welcomed within their massive flagship as a patient and guest. Yes! What a relief.
More Later . . .