A Precious Minute

Another Catscan, Two Biopsies

Finally that phone call. His liver was clear! Whew!  My dream was true after all.

In the same breath, the doctor also mentioned that he had seen two "spots" on my dad's lung.  One (the one in the front) was a confirmed infection.  My dad was prescribed antibiotics (which we were happy about since we could start treating him), but the darker spot in the back concerned doctors.  They suggested that they run another catscan on his lung.

There was that word again:  catscan.  The word intimidates me.  But we felt confident going into the catscan since both the blood tests and sputum tests were negative for cancer.  Doctors surmised that perhaps this other spot was a secondary infection.  Well, that's what we prayed for.

A few days later the catscan results revealed a tumor the shape and size of a hot dog.  The pulmonologist then announced the worst.  She thought my dad had lung cancer.  I'll never forget hearing my mother's voice on the phone.  She sounded so small, so defeated.  Our worst nightmare had come true, and now we were anxious to get started with treatment.

Unfortunately, doctors couldn't officially diagnose (and therefore wouldn't start treatment of any sort) until they had biopsied samples of his tumor.  So, you guessed it, we had more waiting.

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The initial biopsy, performed by a pulmonologist, came back BENIGN.  We were thrilled, but doctors wanted to do yet another biopsy to get more samples of the tumor.  The second biopsy (a catscan guided biopsy) resulted in a handful of really good tumor samples.  We had to wait another week or so for the results.  My dreams returned, and days dragged by.  Waiting for results is so nerve wracking.

Finally the intial results of the second biopsy returned.  All the tumor samples were BENIGN.  Doctors urged my mother to check my dad into the hospital so that they could begin treatment for an INFECTION of some sort.  E.Coli?  Maybe.  T.B.?  Maybe that.  We didn't know. But we were ecstatic that we had escaped cancer.

Little did we know that it would take another week before my dad's final diagnosis.

Elevated Liver Enzymes

After more tests were run, doctors noticed that my dad's liver enzymes were sky high.  Most people associate liver problems with alcohol abuse, and since my father is nothing more than a social drinker, we weren't intensely concerned about the increased enzyme levels.  After all, the increase in enzyme levels gave doctors a reason to favor Autoimmune Hepatitis as a possible diagnosis.

Ironically my dad's twin was recently diagnosed with Autoimmune Hepatitis, and we were a bit relieved to learn that this illness, though not curable, is manageable.  We were breathing a sigh of relief that doctors were closing in on a diagnosis.  We spent a few days happy that we would soon resort to a normal life, and the stress of tests were behind us now.  So we thought. 

It wasn't soon before doctors were uttering words like "Catscan" and "biopsy."  Honestly these words scare me simply because they imply more complicated things, like "tumor" or "the C word."  The doctors wanted to run a catscan on my dad's liver to ensure that there was no cancer.  The evening before his catscan, I had the same recurring dream, a dream in which my dad received his catscan results over and over.  I remember waking up exhausted, but feeling anxious to hear of the results.

If you've ever had a catscan or know anyone who has, you probably know that there is a lot of waiting involved.  Things take time, especially test results. And here we were again, waiting for that phone call.

The Last Weekend in March

The last time my parents came to our house was the last weekend in March.  Even though the day was typical, I remember it vividly.  My parents made a quick trip to Costco before swinging by our house, and with them they brought the requisite pizza and caesar salad.  (By the way, who doesn't love pizza from Costco?)  After eating our lunch, my dad and Hank took measurements of our side wall;  my dad was planning to build a lattice extension to provide us with more privacy.

My dad was his normal, active self, and I remember enjoying the day immensely.  No reason other than the weather was cooperative of our outside tasks, and I was spending a fun day with my parents.  No feelings of stress and no looming expectations of chores to be done.  It was a simple time.  A simple day.

Flash forward one week, and my dad returned from the doctor's office after a series of tests.  He had recently been losing weight (with no apparent cause), and he had an overall feeling of malaise.  The family doctor initially attributed this to his recent break with smoking, but after many blood tests, it was revealed that my dad might have Hepatitis.

Though a serious disease, we were grateful that he could be treated and possibly cured.  My dad's appointment was on a Friday and the final lab results wouldn't be finished until Monday. We waited with great anxiety for Monday to roll around so that he could start his antibiotics.  Meanwhile I googled the signs and symptoms of Hepatitis, and no matter what info I plugged in the search window, I couldn't escape links to cancer. 

Monday rolled around, and more tests were taken.  Doctors still couldn't pinpoint an exact diagnosis (was it Hepatitis A, B or C?  Or Autoimmune Hepatitis?).  Doctors were stumped, and more tests had to be done.   To me that meant only one thing:  more waiting.