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11
MEGAN
Mom’s hand on my knee interrupts the constant bouncing that was jiggling the whole row of chairs. It also allows me to notice the pain in my lip from biting it without reprieve. I’m sitting in one of the uncomfortable waiting room chairs at the hospital, the anticipation of what’s to come causing my body to need constant stimulation.
Mom is sitting next to me, pretending to read her book. The only reason I know she isn’t reading is because she hasn’t turned the page once since she pulled the book out fifteen minutes ago.
We’re both nervous about what’s going to happen today. They told us to expect to be here for most of the day. I hope they’ll be able to tell me the results of the tests right away instead of prolonging the answers.
“Megan?” a middle-aged nurse asks from the entryway of the waiting room. Mom and I stand from our seats to follow her through the hallways of the hospital. As the nurse keeps up a steady stream of chatter with my mom, I am completely lost in my head. It’s as if I’m walking into the scariest moment of a horror movie. I know something bad could happen when I step through the door, I just don’t have a clue what it will be.
The nurse opens the door to a typical doctor’s office exam room. The table sits in the middle, and machines are pressed up against the wall, ready for use whenever they’re needed. A couple of chairs are across the room as well as a rolling stool.
“Dr. Robins will be in shortly,” she says before leaving the room.
Ten minutes later, the doctor walks in, full of confidence. His surfer-boy good looks would normally be distracting, but I’m too nervous to pay much attention to his attractiveness.
“Hi Megan, I’m Dr. Robins, and I’m the chief of obstetrics here at John Francis. I’ve taken a look at the labs Dr. Jensen ran, and it seems we’re in need of some more extensive tests than what she was able to do at her practice.”
“What tests are you going to run?” I ask.
“We’d like to do another blood draw as well as an ultrasound. Then I’d like to do a full-body CT scan to be on the safe side.”
“Do you have any idea what’s wrong with me?” My voice is barely above a whisper despite my attempts at being brave.
“We’re honestly not sure yet. The high markers in your bloodwork could mean any number of things, which is why Dr. Jensen wanted you to come for some more extensive tests.”
All I can do is nod my head as Dr. Robins hands me a gown and tells me a nurse will be in soon for the blood draw. I step into the bathroom to change my clothes, and a new nurse walks into the room a few minutes after I get settled on the table. Her silver hair is twisted back with a claw clip, and her brown eyes seem genuine.
“Hi, Megan, I’m Jackie. I’m going to start your blood draw, then I’ll be around throughout the day to assist Dr. Robins.” She smiles at me while prepping her tray. Quickly and efficiently, she draws my blood, then lets me know the doctor will be here in a few minutes to do the ultrasound.
I wish I didn’t have to go through all of this to have my questions answered. It would make this whole process so much easier. I look at my mom, who’s been unusually quiet since we got into the room. Despite the worry lining her face, she attempts a smile—I’m sure, to try and make me feel better.
“Tell me a story, Momma.” The words bring back memories of my childhood. Every night at bedtime, she would make up a silly story about princesses or talking animals. Anything that came to mind, I guess.
A genuine smile curls at Mom’s lips as she scoots her chair closer to the table.
“Once upon a time, there was a princess who lived in a medieval castle,” Mom starts. I already know which story she chose. It was my favorite because the princess wanted to be a healer and ends up saving the entire village because of her knowledge. The main theme in each story was the heroine never needed a prince to save her. Instead, she found ways to save the day with the help of her friends.
The story is interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Robins and Jackie, who is rolling a machine into the room.
“We’re going to do the ultrasound now, Megan. Are you ready?”
“I doubt it, but let’s do it anyway.” A little bit of my bravery returns because of Mom’s story. A reminder that even though I’m scared, I am still a strong, capable woman, who can face any obstacle with the help of my family and friends. It’s probably silly to allow a made-up story to have such a large influence over me, but I’ve always believed words hold an immeasurable power to heal.
“Okay, I’m going to be honest here, this is going to be uncomfortable,” Dr. Robins says, then begins to explain how the ultrasound will work. In any other circumstance, I’d be incredibly embarrassed about a hot doctor shoving a wand up my hoo-ha. At this point, it’s the least of my worries, so I’m rolling with it.
Dr. Robins does his thing until a blurry mass shows up on the screen. I have no idea what he’s looking at. What I do know is his face is very serious as he does it. A frown line deepens between his eyes as he continues to examine me. I glance at my mom to see if she knows what’s going on. Her frown seems more like confusion than worry.
“What do you see, Doctor?” Mom asks. I’m grateful she did because I couldn’t seem to find the words.
He sighs, then removes the wand from my body. “Based on the tests we’ve run so far, it looks like you have a tumor in your right ovary. I’d like to do a full-body CT scan to ensure there aren’t any others we weren’t able to pick up on the ultrasound.”
I sit in stunned silence, unable to even process the words that have been spoken. Mom squeezes my hand hard, pulling me out of the frozen shock I’d fallen into.
“We won’t know for certain if the tumor is malignant until we do a biopsy.”
“How does that work?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
“In order to biopsy the tumor, we will have to remove the ovary. It’s the best way to ensure your safety while also getting what we need to run the tests. We should be able to do the surgery laparoscopically, so it will be minimally disruptive, and the recovery time will be much quicker.
“Once the tumor is removed, we’ll be able to test for different types of cancers. If it comes back as malignant—or cancerous—we’ll need to discuss what that means and where we’ll need to go from there.” His grave tone contradicts his kind eyes. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to this conversation.
“So, she’ll have to lose her ovary and potentially more if it’s spread?” my mom clarifies.
“Unfortunately, yes, that is the case.”
“Oh, my God,” Mom whispers while I sit in stunned silence. There’s too much information coming at me to fully comprehend what’s being said. The only thing flashing through my brain is one word.
Cancer.
It’s repeating over and over, blinking like a neon sign. I wish I could flip a switch to turn it off, removing the scary thoughts altogether.
The doctor tells me they’ll come back when they’re ready to take me for the scan. All I can do is numbly nod my head. My gaze lands on my mom; tears are swimming in her eyes. It’s then I notice the tears streaming from my own. She blows out a deep breath and grabs my hand.
“Everything is going to be fine, baby. We’ll get the rest of the information we need, and you will be perfectly fine when all of this is over. I promise.”
“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,” I say, hoping that by speaking the words out loud, it will make them true.
We wait another twenty minutes before Dr. Robins tells us they’re ready to do the scan. Once I’m in the proffered wheelchair, Jackie pushes me across the hospital to the imaging room. The scanner is loud, even with the ear protection, and it feels like I’m in the machine for hours. All I’m able to do is lay there, thinking about what Dr. Robins told me and what it could mean for my future.
What if it’s not just a simple surgery to remove the tumor? What if the biopsy comes back and it is cancer? What if it has spread? Will they have to take everything out? Will I be able to have kids?
There are so many questions I should’ve asked already, but after I heard the word tumor, my brain immediately shut down. There was nothing coherent going through my head other than I might have cancer.
The loud whooshing noise abruptly cuts off, and the technician comes in to help me out of the machine. I’m whisked back to my room, where Mom is pacing while she waits.
“She’s all done,” Jackie says. “You can change back into your clothes. The doctor will be back in shortly to go over the results of the scan.”
“Thanks,” Mom says while I grab my clothes. When I’m done changing, I sit down in a chair next to Mom. We have to wait another thirty minutes before Dr. Robins comes in with my scans in his hands.
“A little good news for the day. It looks like the tumor is isolated to your right ovary,” he says, putting the scans up onto a light board so we can see them as well. He points to a spot on the scan. “This spot here is what I saw on the ultrasound. With its size and your bloodwork levels, it would be best to get it removed as soon as possible so we can know what we’re dealing with.”
“Meaning you’ll take out my one ovary, but I’ll keep everything else, right?” I ask, hoping to get all my questions answered now that the shock has worn off a bit.
“Yes, like I said, it seems the tumor is isolated, so we should only have to take the one ovary. We’ll biopsy the tumor, once removed, and if it does come back malignant, we’ll want to do regular scans to make sure another one doesn’t return.”
“Will I need to do any other treatments after the surgery?”
“At this time, no. If the biopsy comes back as cancerous, the regular scans will help us know if other treatments will be necessary.”
“And with one missing ovary, will I still be able to have kids?”
“It may be a little more difficult, but yes, you should still be able to.”
I nod my head, looking at Mom to see if she has any questions. Pride and worry shine in her eyes before she turns back to the doctor. She asks about scheduling the surgery and what the recovery looks like afterward.
Basically, the next month is going to suck. If I’m healed up by the time senior year begins, I can handle it. As long as this works.
Please, God, let this work.
