Testing. Testing.

Pic: incision from last week's surgical biopsy, the test that determined I have Hodgkin's

So...I had an appointment today with a different oncologist. The first on Monday went OK, but I just didn't feel that great about the office or the doctor. The office seemed disorganized, the doctor like he'd rather be golfing, the appointment setter took her sweet time getting back with me.  I left that appointment knowing I needed more testing, but that's about it. He didn't even look at the CT films I brought with me.

Family to the rescue. My Aunt Mary made a call to Dr. Gaeke, the oncologist who treated my grandpa years ago. He died when I was in middle school after having battled stage 4 non-Hodgkin's lymphoma for eight years. Dr. Gaeke's office got me in right away—today. 

The office was the polar opposite of the oncology center I'd visited on Monday. Instead of a giant waiting room filled with patients in various stages of desperation, the small waiting room felt like it'd been there waiting for me to walk in. There was calm, peace, friendliness. When I checked in, Bonnie, this sweet, sweet nurse, took me to a room and charted my entire medical history down to each sprained ankle and wisdom tooth extraction. She looked at me with kindness after hearing that two different doctors put me on antibiotics before realizing it was something more serious, and said, "Honey, when they see someone as young as you, they just don't want to believe it could be anything else." So sweet.

Soon, Dr. Gaeke came in, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a long pony tail. She greeted me with a firm handshake, sat down, and proceeded to review the entire history the nurse had just collected, word by word, aloud. She asked for my my CT films, then held each sheet up to the light and educated me as I looked over her shoulder. When the visit came to a close, she asked me what other questions I had—not "do" I have more questions, a little difference that means so much. She spent two full hours with me, was compassionate without being sappy, professional without being cold. 

And she was thorough. Whereas the other doctor didn't even look at my CT films, Dr. Gaeke did, and made a realization. My neck is showing enlarged lymph nodes on both sides, not just the right side, the one causing me pain. In fact, the lymph nodes on the left side of my neck are even more enlarged than the ones on my right side, leading Dr. Gaeke to suspect I'm in stage 3, at least stage 2. 

But the test results to come will tell us more. Bone marrow biopsy tomorrow. Ugh. That one is gonna hurt. Big giant needle into my hip bone to see if the cancer's reached marrow. Friday, CT scan of the pelvic region and a test of my lungs to be sure I can handle the chemical in chemo known to be hard on the lungs. Tuesday, a PET scan, where they'll inject radioactive glucose into my blood, let me sit and radiate an hour, then scan as the cancer sucks up the sugar—this gives a very precise idea of what's cancer, what's not. Wednesday is my MUGA test, where they measure the volume of blood pumped by my heart's left ventricle. This is a good indication of heart strength, which they need to know since one chemical administered in chemo is tough on the heart.

By this time next week I'll have had it, I'm sure. Please keep me in prayer, and pray for those poor souls about to administer all these tests. (When I had my wisdom teeth out, I actually told my dentist, "No offense, but I pretty much hate you!" That's what he deserved for not putting me under.)

I'll let you know how my bone marrow biopsy goes tomorrow, if I can hobble up to my office to type afterward. Love you all!

Tara