Second Opinion

I was a widow of ten years and an early-retired airline employee when my fourteen-year-old son Doug and I moved to the beautiful Northwest.  Now, three years later, we still called Houston "home", even though we loved our new surroundings.  The Northwest was a temporary stop until Doug graduated from high school and I figured out what to do for the rest of my life.  But suddenly and unexpectedly, I was trying to figure out something far more important--how to deal with My Diagnosis.

Within forty-eight hours, I flew to Houston, Texas for a second opinion.  It made perfect sense to go to a city that was world renowned for Cancer Research, and where I had loving and caring friends.  During the four-plus hour flight, I started reading Cancer Battle Plan, one of the books I had just purchased.  Its title intrigued me.  I needed a battle plan, especially after receiving the phone call about my biopsy.  The report  confirmed cancerous cells, "advanced".  Or maybe the word was "aggressive."

My Second Opinion was scheduled for Wednesday, December 11th, with oncologist Dr. Price.  On Monday, I drove my rental car to the Medical Center to scope out his office to ensure I would know my way.  Since I was already there, I decided to ask if there had been a cancellation so I could get in sooner.  Anxiety was getting the best of me.

The scene in the jam-packed waiting room took me by surprise.  There in front of me were suffering, dying people--frail bodies in wheelchairs; bald heads; other heads covered with hats or scarves.  Heads drooping low.  Faces trying to smile. Welcome to Cancer's World!

At the reception desk, I stood speechless, unable to say anything.  I demonstrated for everyone what floodgate of tears means.  Before I could get a grip on my emotions, a nurse escorted me to a private area where I received comfort and understanding.  My first cry, totally unexpected, may have helped me get my foot in the door.

Four hours later, Dr. Price examined me.  My diagnosis was Stage B.  The tumor was about five centimeters in size and was aggressive.  Treatment would be chemotherapy followed by mastectomy followed by more chemotherapy followed by radiation.  And, I would probably need to have a stem cell transplant.  I had just read in Cancer Battle Plan how stem cell transplants can destroy bodies beyond repair.  I would cross that bridge when I came to it.  Now I just needed to get started.  No matter what the treatment, I told Dr. Price, I was ready to begin NOW.  

On Wednesday (the day of my original appointment), a portocathe was surgically implanted in my chest to receive the prescribed drugs.  That  afternoon, my first "chemo cocktail" slowly dripped into my body.  Round One had begun.

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