Another Week, Another Biopsy
Yes, I know, it does seem like I am working hard to
get attention and sympathy these days, but I am not making this up.
Last week, I went for an endoscopy (a lovely procedure where they stick a little tube down your throat to look at your upper GI tract). This is something my doctor wanted to do because about 10 years ago he'd diagnosed a hiatal hernia and folks like me have to be scoped once in a while. No big deal, right? Being Medically Unusual, I've gotten used to having lots of weird things done to my body. As long as you give me good drugs beforehand, I'm cool.
Except that this time he found something called Barrett's Esophagus, which is a disease of the esophagus which ups your chance for esophageal cancer. He took a biopsy and I'm supposed to get the results tomorrow or Tuesday. So of course I hit the Internet and discover that folks with this condition have about a 1 percent chance of getting esophageal cancer in any given year, and that as long as you're getting scoped regularly, esophageal cancer is pretty curable. People die of it because it doesn't cause symptoms until very, very late--which, obviously, this isn't. Plus, my doctor didn't ever use the "C" word, and what's turned up so far is, in his words, "Not too serious."
It's funny, though, how little words can haunt you. "Too." Hmmm. It doesn't help that I have a friend who is dying of esophageal cancer as we speak, and I haven't even spoken to her lately because she can't talk anymore.
After the Full Crisis Mode I went into on the mammogram scare, I thought I'd try to just handle this myself, which was a complete load of horseshit. I can't handle anything by myself. In fact, I should not be allowed outside the house without adult supervision. As it is, I am periodically overwhelmed by fear, and as soon as I dump one delivery, another arrives. And even though I know that the very condition of being afraid is a futile attempt to control the universe--as if imagining some unwanted outcome will somehow make that outcome less likely--what's also true is that fear is a monster which does not engage in rational discourse.
So: I admit it. Once again, I'm not fighting a disease here so much as a state of mind. And the last go-around on this taught me that there are ways of doing that a whole lot more effective than diving down a hole, covering your ears and chanting, "LA! LA! LA! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" to the universe. What I'd rather do right now is just own up to the fact that I am weak and scared and pretty f--ed up at the moment. Again.
Last week, I went for an endoscopy (a lovely procedure where they stick a little tube down your throat to look at your upper GI tract). This is something my doctor wanted to do because about 10 years ago he'd diagnosed a hiatal hernia and folks like me have to be scoped once in a while. No big deal, right? Being Medically Unusual, I've gotten used to having lots of weird things done to my body. As long as you give me good drugs beforehand, I'm cool.
Except that this time he found something called Barrett's Esophagus, which is a disease of the esophagus which ups your chance for esophageal cancer. He took a biopsy and I'm supposed to get the results tomorrow or Tuesday. So of course I hit the Internet and discover that folks with this condition have about a 1 percent chance of getting esophageal cancer in any given year, and that as long as you're getting scoped regularly, esophageal cancer is pretty curable. People die of it because it doesn't cause symptoms until very, very late--which, obviously, this isn't. Plus, my doctor didn't ever use the "C" word, and what's turned up so far is, in his words, "Not too serious."
It's funny, though, how little words can haunt you. "Too." Hmmm. It doesn't help that I have a friend who is dying of esophageal cancer as we speak, and I haven't even spoken to her lately because she can't talk anymore.
After the Full Crisis Mode I went into on the mammogram scare, I thought I'd try to just handle this myself, which was a complete load of horseshit. I can't handle anything by myself. In fact, I should not be allowed outside the house without adult supervision. As it is, I am periodically overwhelmed by fear, and as soon as I dump one delivery, another arrives. And even though I know that the very condition of being afraid is a futile attempt to control the universe--as if imagining some unwanted outcome will somehow make that outcome less likely--what's also true is that fear is a monster which does not engage in rational discourse.
So: I admit it. Once again, I'm not fighting a disease here so much as a state of mind. And the last go-around on this taught me that there are ways of doing that a whole lot more effective than diving down a hole, covering your ears and chanting, "LA! LA! LA! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" to the universe. What I'd rather do right now is just own up to the fact that I am weak and scared and pretty f--ed up at the moment. Again.
Ack. Well, I won't even complain about my upcoming endoscopic sinus surgery, because unless there's a giant tumor in the holes in my head, it doesn't hold a candle to what you're going through.
I think it's good you're writing about it. Please update us when you can!
Posted by: Sandy D. | January 07, 2008 at 07:31 PM
I can check and see if the Orange Traffic Cone is taken. Or I can post a "WANTED" on my freecycle group and see if anyone has one to offer.
On a completely different note, I find the word "Esophogeal" to be really really weird.
Posted by: Devra | January 07, 2008 at 07:29 AM
Oh, I'm so sorry you're going through this worry. I can't tell you anything you don't already know (namely, that you'll almost certainly be just fine), and I can't take away your anxiety. In fact, being the nervous girl that I am, I would be reacting just as you are. Just know that you're being thought of, and prayed for. Hope that this passes quickly and well.
Posted by: Becki | January 06, 2008 at 03:48 PM