I ignored each comment, knowing that if I responded in any way, it would fuel him on. But just because I held my tongue didn’t mean that my mind wasn’t on overdrive thinking about what it was I was really hoping to accomplish by going out with Garrett tonight.
Every other first date I’ve ever been on in my life has been with the sole purpose of hoping to get to know someone and make a bit of a connection. Hoping that it would lead to something more, because as a woman, I wanted the romance and secure warmth of a solid relationship. I’ve never gone out with anyone with the idea in mind of having sex with him. Never thought about it once.
But God help me…it’s all I’ve been thinking about this afternoon.
All thanks to Stevie yammering at me to seize life by the horns, all while the cancer hammers at my body, maybe setting me on a collision course with a destiny that may make it impossible for me to do anything but clutch weakly and in vain at my life.
I don’t want to feel weak and powerless. I want to make this life my bitch and wring every bit of juicy goodness from it before it’s possibly taken away from me. Am I wrong to view Garrett Samuelson as “juicy goodness”? Am I a complete slut to even consider this?
There is one good thing about being obsessed with my date tonight with Garrett. It helped me keep my mind off everything I learned at my oncology appointment early this morning. I went in scared to death, almost sick to my stomach, and came out with at least a little bit more knowledge that helped me put things into better perspective. My head is swimming with information.
Dr. Yoffman was very kind and very cool. I’d guess he is in his late fifties, with longish dark salt-and-pepper hair and a goatee. He wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a Hawaiian-print shirt, and rather than put me off, his casual look and demeanor actually made me feel more calm. He gave me a full physical examination, prodding gently on the swollen lymph node on the right side of my neck. It had been there for weeks, my primary-care doctor thinking first it was some type of infection because I was also having fevers and general fatigue. He tried to treat it with various antibiotics, but when the symptoms wouldn’t subside, he ordered a biopsy on the lymph node.
Boom. Cancer!
Dr. Yoffman explained to me that follicular B-cell lymphoma is a slow-growing cancer, and had likely been in my body for a very long time. He said many people never even exhibit symptoms and sometimes even a wait-and-see approach is feasible. But because I had fevers, night sweats, fatigue, and even a ten-pound weight loss over the last few months, that could be an indication that my disease was more advanced. Those words felt like a slam to my stomach, and terrorlike fear coursed through my body. When I let out a stuttering breath with tears in my eyes, Dr. Yoffman patted me on the knee.
“The good news is that this is treatable. It’s generally not curable, but we have a good chance of getting you into remission.”
Those words sounded sweet to my ears. I chose to ignore the part where he said “not curable” and focused instead on the words “treatable” and “remission.”
“How do you treat it?”
Standing up, he started making some notes in my chart. “First things first…we need to determine your staging…how advanced the disease is. I need to order some blood work; CT scan of your chest, abdomen, and pelvis; a PET scan; as well as a bone-marrow aspiration and core biopsy.”
My head started swimming again and Sutton reached out to grab my hand. She turned to Dr. Yoffman. “Can you explain those tests to us?”
Setting my chart back down, Dr. Yoffman walked over to me and peered into my eyes. “Most of them are noninvasive, but the bone-marrow biopsy can be a little uncomfortable. I’ll give you a local anesthetic down here.” He reached one arm around me and pressed his fingers down on the right side of my lower back, almost over the top of my butt cheek. “I’ll have to make a very tiny incision, and then when I get down to the bone, I’ll numb the protective covering it has as well. I’ll use a needle to pull out an aspirate of bone marrow, then I’ll have to use another instrument to drill down into the bone. You shouldn’t feel any pain, and once I get in, I’ll pull out a bit of bone. Some patients say it feels like an electric shock when I aspirate the marrow, or a compressed feeling, but you won’t be in a lot of pain. The procedure takes about five to ten minutes.”
My stomach started rolling with nausea, and bile rose in my throat. All of a sudden, my confidence that Sutton and Stevie had worked so hard to build up took a big, fat nosedive. “I can’t,” I blurted. “I’m not ready for this.”
Dr. Yoffman’s eyes turned soft with understanding and he squeezed my shoulder. “It’s okay, Olivia. This is a lot to process and sounds very scary. It will take some time to absorb it all. I can also prescribe you something to help you relax and relieve the anxiety. How about today we at least get your blood work done and the CT scan, as I have that equipment here in the clinic. We’ll do the bone-marrow aspiration and biopsy tomorrow and the medication I’m going to prescribe will help you relax. And hopefully I’ll get your insurance approval for the PET scan soon. Sound like a plan?”
I swallowed hard and nodded at him gratefully that he wasn’t immersing me all the way in. I was also liking the sound of him prescribing me something for the anxiety, because I felt like my body was about ready to blow apart in a million pieces because it was trembling so badly.
Before he left, Dr. Yoffman asked if I had any other questions, and I felt foolish over what I was getting ready to ask. I didn’t have any experience with cancer, other than what I had seen on the news or through friends on social media. Here I was, faced with a life-threatening illness, and all I could think to ask was, “Am I going to lose my hair during the treatment?”