Just an ultrasound? To confirm it’s nothing, right? So off Lane and I go to the hospital to get this ultrasound. So many people prayed for her that day, sent well wishes and notes of speedy recovery. Lane did great, I did ok. I was actually really annoyed that we were there. She’s fine but we have to do all this just to make sure, I know. Later that day we got the call.
It’s a mass.
The ultrasound had comfirmed it was a mass. I cried. We cried. A mass, boy, that sounded scary. Greg sat a chair outside, watching the girls play, and cried silently beneath his sunglasses. What was happening? They’ve got it all wrong. She was hit at a birthday party. It’s got to be a mistake.
So we schedule to see a different doctor and talk about a biopsy. Lane, my sweet Lane, got a fine needle biopsy right in the office. Poor thing didn’t see it coming but neither did I really. Honestly, this adds to my annoyance. Now my sweet girl has to be in pain because the radiologist can’t read the ultrasound right. Did he have a golf game he had to get to? Was his Mercedes being towed? Oh well, this will all be over soon. Sure enough the doctors calls a few days later and says the biopsy came back 90% fat cells. Yay! I knew it! It’s over. Except the radiologist is still really worried about the ultrasound and he wants us to do a core biopsy.
Really, is this necessary? I fought the impulse to say no and we scheduled that second biopsy. She would have to be under sedation. We had to sign all kinds of terrible forms that spelled out all the awful things that could happen. When talking to the anesthesiologist I could barely keep my composure, all I asked was that he treat her like she was his own. He said he would have her back safe and waking up soon. Off to the waiting room we went. It took only about 20 minutes, a very long 20 minutes. Sure enough, she was waking up in no time and we were on our way to Wenatchee (grandparents house)…pizza first though.
(Nothing a little hot tubbin’ can’t fix)
Much that followed the next afternoon seemed like a blur until I started recalling it now. I grieve for the innocence we all new before that phone call. The annoyance of those doctors visits turned to fear in an instant. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this but the second biopsy would suggest it’s a sarcoma” echoed the doctor. The phone call was over but I was still stuck on, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this”. Actually, I think a part of me is still hung up on that phrase. Sarcoma, Children’s Hospital, Pediatric Oncologist…tomorrow. The few words I could recall. I was in the car when the doctor called. I pulled over in a hurry and received the news that shocked me. Hurt me. Broke me. I got off the phone and wept in words “they said it’s cancer”. I couldn’t breathe. We wept, bitterly. We cried and gasped for air. We prayed fiercly…it had to be a mistake.
2 thoughts on “It’s gotta be a mistake!”
Love you Bethany. I’m so glad you are sharing your families story with such authenticity and transparency. We are here offering our love and support<3
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Thank you my friend:) Your words are much appreciated!