Will November 13, 2018 be a day that lives on in infamy?

Hopefully not.

Not that it would be a day that lives on in infamy for anyone else –unless they, too, were delivered potentially life-altering news.

Chest Pains

Recently we had to take Wayne to the ER after he was complaining of chest pains again.

This isn’t our first chest pain rodeo. The other two or three times this has happened has been when he’s gone through periods of tremendous turmoil. Luckily so far it’s always been more of a case of acute stress and anxiety.

That’s what this last time was too. No heart attack. Healthy as a horse.

The Follow Up

Instead of following up with the cardiologist, Wayne opted to follow up with his primary care doctor. His primary said he could go see the cardio guy if he was still concerned. (Because Wayne is still complaining of discomfort and “not feeling right” in his chest.)

However, his primary was much more concerned about getting him in to see a pulmonologist. Apparently the CT scan showed he has a nodule in one of his lungs.

WTF?! Why didn’t the ER people say something about that? What if Wayne hadn’t followed up with anybody?

It Could Be Nothing…

Although, it could just turn out to be nothing. They always tell you not to Google your symptoms. (But who ever listens to that? I can only imagine people who don’t use the Internet at all can muster that kind of restraint.)

Anyway, according to VeryWellHealth.com, 60% of the time lung nodules are benign.

Flashbacks

The trouble is, I lost both parents to lung cancer.
Both of their diagnoses started with finding nodules.

My mom, a non-smoker, went first in 2008. My dad, a smoker, passed just last year. 

My dad quit off and on during his lifetime. When my parents were married I don’t remember him smoking. He took it up again after the divorce. That’s when I learned he had smoked some before I was born.

He finally quit once and for all in the late 1990s after having heart surgery. (For something that turned out to be a heart defect and not related to his smoking. Still, that’s what it took to get him to finally quit.)

My mom never smoked. At least not habitually. Maybe she had tried it in her youth, but it definitely wasn’t part of her regimen during any point in her adulthood.

Exposure

Wayne’s dad was a lifetime smoker. So was one of his aunts and a cousin. 

He was exposed to second hand smoke same as I was for a decent portion of his early life. We’re both at risk for cancer from that.

Yes, I know. I’m jumping the gun. All we know right now is that he has a nodule and it’s about 1 centimeter.

Keep Calm and Carry On?

I’m trying to remind myself not to freak out until we know more. 

It’s hard, though. Part of why I dread going to the doctor is because of the bad news that can follow. It never used to be that way. You’d go in. You’d get treated. That was that.

Then when I cared for my mom in her dying days it was always, “Ooops. Spotted something new.”

Or, the very worst appointment of all, “She’s not responding to treatments. There’s nothing more that can be done except to refer her to hospice.”

And then came my bout with cancer. And with funky CT scans that had them thinking I had congestive heart failure, abnormal mammograms, and super high blood sugar levels following a steroid shot for bronchitis that had them thinking I had diabetes…

Yet, when I knew something was wrong they wouldn’t listen. And when I feel fine, they try to convince me I’m not. Super stressful.

But He’s So Healthy

Because Wayne works out so hard everyday (at least 1 hour, but usually closer to two, sometimes three or more), and he eats well and his family really doesn’t have many health problems (his grandma is in her late 90s now), I just take it for granted he’ll out live me.

But yesterday was quite a shock when he told me about his visit and the news of the nodule. Imagining this could be the first day of bad health news for him…. 

Well, I tried not to go there. My lungs literally seized in my chest at the thought of him not in my life. My heart ached with an agonizing, crushing pain that made my knees weak and my stomach roil.

So, for physical reasons as much as mental ones, I can’t linger too long on certain thoughts.

All Shall Be We

My favorite mantra in bad times is “All shall be well. And all shall be well. And all manner of things shall be well.”

It’s too early to tell if they will or not. November 13, 2018 could just be one of those days that marks a scare. Or not. Only time will tell.

But either way I’m marking it down. Because if it turns out he’s fine, I’ll refer back to this the next time one of his quirks annoys the shit out of me. A good reminder that I’d take being annoyed over the alternative any day.