Last week, Lily’s routine PET scan revealed something
“concerning” in her chest, so an MRI was ordered. I was terrified of what this
could mean, but hopeful that the MRI would show that there was nothing to be
worried about. This wasn’t the case.
The day of the scan, the doctor called me on the phone and
asked me to come back to the office alone to discuss the results. The MRI of
Lily’s chest had revealed a mass about 2x3 cm near her thymus and close to her
spine. Because imaging can’t tell if such masses are cancerous or benign, the
doctors ordered a biopsy of the mass.
I can’t tell you how horrible it was to have to tell Lily
that the scans had found a mass and that she was going to need surgery. She was
surprised, but confident that she was fine. I had told her what the doctor had
told me, which was that the mass could just be a part of her enlarged thymus, a
post chemo effect called thymus rebound.
Lily told me that she wasn’t worried about surgery because she had already
had two bone marrow biopsies, so she kind of already knew what to expect. The procedure was scheduled for early Monday
morning.
On Monday, we arrived at the hospital early, and after hours
of waiting (something we have grown accustomed to), spoke to the surgeon. She
explained the difficulty of the procedure because of the position of the mass
in Lily’s chest and the risks involved. I could tell that Lily was nervous but
in typical Lily fashion, she wouldn’t admit that she was. She was too busy dressing
up her stuffed cat, “Kitty,” in doctor gear (mask, gloves, hat, etc.) and
exclaiming in an English accent that “Dr. Kitty” was “now ready for the
examination” and “please remove your drawers!” Only Lily can lighten the mood
during stressful situations like this.
All went well during the procedure and Lily bounced right
back afterwards, saying that the incision barely hurt; and once we got home,
chowing down on Mongolian Grill (thanks Grandma) and begging to go out and play
with her friends.
The results of the biopsy came sooner than expected.
Yesterday, the doctor called to ask us to come in and discuss what they had
found. After taking a while to compose myself, I called Lily from her friend’s
house so that I could prepare her for what the doctor had to say. I began with,
“The doctor called with the results from your biopsy.” At this, she turned and
looked at me with such a look of excitement and happy anticipation, that I knew
she expected me to tell her that the results were good and she was fine. It broke my heart to say, “They found cancer.”
Her face crumpled. She finally broke down and cried.
We lay down and I quietly rubbed her back; I was prepared to
let her have a good cry. But as usual, she amazed me with her strength. Very
quickly, she stopped and sat up. Despite everything, there is just not a lot to
cry about when you don’t feel sorry for yourself. And astonishingly, she doesn’t.
Oh, believe me; Lily knows only too well how bad cancer
sucks. But she has never put herself in the role of the victim. She also knows
how unfair cancer is, but she has never said, “Why me?”
I think that the hardest part of coming to terms with this
again is that we all really thought that Lily was in remission for good. We actually
thought we were done with cancer. And we are. So sick as hell done with it.
Only, it’s not done with us.
