It seems only fitting that the 100th entry in this series would include details on the roller coaster of emotions and the somewhat dramatic (but gratifying) conclusion to the Appointmentpalooza whirlwind that Mom and I found ourselves in the middle of over the last six weeks, so here we go.
To pick up where I left off, aside from a brief scare at one of my dermatologist office visits involving some biopsies that fortunately got sorted out, we soldiered through the September and early October appointments. But the enchilada of appointments - her CT scan and then her follow-up visit with her medical oncologist to discuss the results - loomed. And the closer we got to them, the more anxious we felt.
Our fervent prayer was that not only would the visits go well, but that the results from them would be reassuring, not just because of the obvious reasons, but because these were the last of the appointments we had scheduled for the year (outside of a routine PCP one I have in December), and we desperately wanted to go into the holiday season with a few less worries on our minds.
First up was the CT. Usually those are scheduled in the mornings or around lunchtime, which works for us because we can get them out of the way and not have to sit there and think about them all day.
But first thing in the morning, we got a phone call from the medical facility: Their CT machine had gone down, and they needed to reschedule. It was imperative that she be able to get the scans done on this particular day. Fortunately, they were able to schedule us for later in the day at a place that was about 45 minutes out - for a 7:15 PM visit.
I felt so bad for Mom. Not only was she going to have to sit there and think about her appointment for the rest of the day, but evenings are usually when she's the most tired, so this CT was going to be more challenging than normal.
So we drove out there, and it occurred to me as we pulled in to park that it was the four-year anniversary to the day that she was diagnosed with colon cancer - and in that very building (just a different floor). I took a deep breath as the tough memories came flooding back.
We didn't have to wait long once we got checked in. The staff there were wonderful, and Mom was an absolute trooper through all of it. I sat outside of the room where the scans took place, trying not to cry every time I heard the technician tell her to hold her breath and then breathe.
The visit didn't take too long, so we hopped back into the car for the trek home - where I nearly got into a car accident because the city of Charlotte is too cheap to put street lights on some of its busiest roads. Another story for another day, but God was watching over us that night because we ultimately made it home safely.
Two days later was the oncologist visit, where we would learn of the results of the scans and also have labs done, where the all-important CEA (carcinoembryonic antigen) number would be checked. Praise Jesus, he felt good about the scans. The new liver lesion found on the previous scan was gone. There was one other area of slight concern, but that area has been there for the last couple of scans, and he's okay with Mom continuing to do CTs to monitor it rather than the suggested route: an invasive procedure that Mom has declined.
As we left the office that day, it was bittersweet. Mom's oncologist is retiring from full-time practice, and so is the nurse he works with who keeps everything running like a well-oiled machine. They assured us we are in good hands with the doctor and staff we'll see on the next visit, but as we were contemplating that while walking through the reception area, we learned there was a big problem: the elevators had been shut down because one had gotten stuck with a patient inside it.
Walking down several flights of stairs wasn't an option for Mom, so we had to wait it out as the firefighters who were on our floor did their thing to try and rescue the patient. They and those of us in the waiting area tried to keep the mood light amid their efforts to get the patient safely removed from the stuck elevator. One of the firefighters even jokingly offered to carry Mom down the stairs and then me, which tickled Mom to no end (and which very likely caused my face to turn pink). I joked with them that Mom probably coordinated the elevator malfunction so she'd have a chance to spend time with a firefighter.
After more maneuvering by the firefighters and some flirty giggling from some of the nursing staff, eventually, order was restored, and everyone was okay, thank goodness. As we made it to the parking lot, we saw four fire trucks, which meant more firefighters, which meant more swooning for Mom and me as I tried in vain not to look more disheveled than I normally do. Charlotte's finest, for sure. In more ways than one.
The cherry on top came later in the evening, when the CEA number came in through the online portal. I knew from past reports that it was a good number (which was confirmed by the doctor in an email Thursday morning), and when I looked at Mom and told her, her eyes lit up and she had the biggest smile on her face.
My brave mom, the most fearless woman I know, had jumped the latest hurdles. It was the biggest blessing, the greatest gift God could give us headed into the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday seasons. We both slept a little better overnight, thankful that God had answered our prayers and those of the wonderful prayer warriors here and elsewhere in a way that had given us some peace of mind.
All of that said, Mom is 83, and it doesn't escape me that these things are getting harder for her to do. But as long as she's willing to stay in the fight, I will, with God's grace, be right there by her side.
