I always heard about the body changing every seven years. I never gave it much thought.A quick Google search brings a couple of interesting articles.Every Seven Years…
This has been on my mind a lot the last few weeks. I’ve never been one to spend New Year’s Eve wishing a year away, or blaming one for my misfortunes. However I do have a rock solid memory for dates, and 2012 is a year I will never forget.
Digesting our PTEN diagnoses from the fall of 2011, 2012 began with thyroid biopsies for my girl. It was the year of risk assessment and triage for us. In February there were breast and neck MRIs for me and another in a long string of embolizations for an AVM in Meghan’s knee. In March came my prophylactic double mastectomy that showed DCIS on pathology. In May of that year came my hysterectomy, as well as breast and an external pelvic ultrasound to assess my then 8 year old. In June she had another thyroid sonogram as suspicion of her nodules increased. She also had an MRI to assess the progress the embolization made on her AVM. Insert recovery times, and “normal people stuff,” and that took us only to the end of third grade.
In the summer she had kidney and bladder ultrasounds, and an MRI of her pituitary gland. I added an abdominal MRI to baseline hamartomas that to this day have continued to slowly outsize my spleen itself. That MRI was repeated in November, and we ended the year with an uptick in concern about my girl’s thyroid.
Things have not really calmed down since then, and I have never counted surgeries and procedures from 2012 alongside any other year to see if it truly was our most medically active, because by all accounts the year you spend trying to process this diagnosis is the longest one ever.
Over time we have adapted to our lives, dancing in between appointments, carefully trying to schedule doctors and surgeries around life, and not the other way around.
Its a valiant effort. Sometimes I am successful at it, and sometimes it is an epic fail. Regardless there is no alternative but to keep pressing forward. Adapting and changing.
Sometimes the adaptations make us stronger. Other times they make us more efficient. I am not sure the impact of the adaptations on emotional health. I am focused on not letting this diagnosis take away my life. I am determined to live my life in spite of it. But, sometimes I do wonder. I keep in touch with virtually no one. Unable to make plans for the likelihood they will need to be cancelled or changed. A deep fear of not being able to hold down a non-medical conversation reverberates through my soul.
So as I was hopping around on the crutches this morning it occurred to me that it is now 2019. It is seven years since the epic 2012. This year is shaping up to be one for the record books.
It is hard to tease apart the Cowden’s from the “Normal People Stuff,” because at this moment life seems to be a bit of an all-consuming medical drama.
That confuses people who see me smiling through the day at work with a large boot attached to my left foot for well over 6 weeks. It makes people I run into at the mall think all must be well. I smile. Most of the time. Frowning gives you uglier wrinkles.
Today was to be the day the podiatrist freed me from the walking boot. Instead he told me to trade it for crutches in the house. The boot is starting to hurt my knees and my hip. My foot is simply not ready to be full weight bearing. The partial tear is not healed. In fact it seems no better, if not worse than when I fell at work on January 8th. The delay in diagnosis caused by a denied MRI likely made things worse.
I was given names for a second opinion, and cautiously handed a script for PT, which cautions the potential therapist to be “NOT TOO AGGRESSIVE” with my foot. The weather is getting warmer. My pleasure comes from new sneakers and long walks…
Simultaneously working the juggling act with a few other issues, I have seen just about a doctor a day for the last week.
Fortunately my daughter’s brain MRI for lesions being watched for the last year was gloriously “unremarkable” on Tuesday and I am grateful for the little things – because they are the GIANT things.
My ENT was perplexed, as most doctors are. The hearing test was normal. The fluid that I feel was not visible to him as it had been to the other doctor. He spent a good deal of time listening. He decided he would offer me a tube to drain the ear with an anticipated 5% success rate. (No thanks) and an MRI of my head which would show the ear. He said he was 99% sure the MRI would show nothing. Then he corrected himself to say he was 99% sure it would show nothing in the ear… but I should anticipate incidental findings that will likely need follow up. Whatever. Brain MRI with Cowden’s is not a bad idea anyway. MRI tomorrow.
My thyroid labs, after 3 weeks on the new medication regimen indicated the need for another change. I’ve been having heart palpitations, and the highest blood pressure reading of my life. I’m awaiting the arrival of the new dose, and setting up the next blood appointment, all while wondering if this is an exercise in futility as it looks like the rest of my thyroid will need to be removed in the not so distant future. My partial thyroidectomy was in 1993. Clearly the body keeps changing.
I had a routine bone density screen on Weds. I also went for my abdominal sonogram to monitor the spleen. It’s a 45 minute ultrasound that requires 4 hours of fasting, but checks the spleen hamartomas for growth, while evaluating the liver and kidneys. Except it was done in 6 minutes.
Apparently there is a drop down menu somewhere when you order an abdominal ultrasound. I think the first item is Aortic screen. The “Complete” that I needed was a few clicks down. I’ll need to reschedule. But, I am looking forward to hearing the random screen I didn’t need was “unremarkable.” Results pending…
I am a different person than I was 7 years ago. We all are I suppose. If you evaluate your life in 7 year increments, you will definitely note changes.
The question is, will you be happy with them?
I am stronger. I am more fit. I am more confident in my knowledge. I am less drawn into drama.
I am also less social. I am less knowledgeable about world news, and more knowledgeable about rare diseases. My attention span is shorter. I am easily distracted. My brain is always on. Sometimes I catch really important things. Other times I torment myself…
I am introspective and honest.
Happy is a relative term.
I’ve spent a lot of time watching Netflix. More than I ever have. I picked up Grey’s Anatomy and keep hearing Meredith quote her mother.
“… But the carousel never stops turning. You can’t get off.”
I will hold on tightly and remain