The Bitch

September, 2013

I am in the turmoil and it is spinning on high speed.

First I had the lymph node removal. Not a very pleasant one, I must honestly say. Thank God this operation has been performed with a local anesthesia. At the end of the operation I started to feel an enormous shot of pain through my upper arm. This was probably a nerve, which is almost impossible to avoid cutting through during operations like this.

The wound under my armpit is healing very slowly. Its nice and small, but everything around it looks bruised. The surgeon placed a drain so the liquid can go out. During the operation you loose a lot of liquid and the drains helps to get it out. Maarten is very sweet and helps me every morning and evening with replacing the bandages. He himself says he has become almost a doctor. During a check up, the doctor told him not to use so many bandages (I couldn’t even move my arm anymore because of so many), Maarten answered, “I just said that I am only half a doctor!”

During the operation they removed 6 lymph nodes and luckily they were all clean. As to say: no metastasis! I am just so happy!

With my right arm half way up (because of all Martin’s bandages), I go through all the researches. These go quick, fast and good, all straight after each other. My friend was right: almost every result makes me really happy. No metastasis in my lungs, bones, liver, blather, uterus and ovaries. Everything looks clean!

The last research is an MRI scan. One of the worst checks of all. I know I have to lie still in a tunnel for at least 12 minutes. With this in mind, I postponed my visit to the restroom until the latest moment possible. I enter the room in my little paper dress and ask the doctor where the rest room is. The doctor (an enormous bitch) makes a deep sigh and says, “To the rest room?? Now?” Irritated, she sends me out to the only rest room, which is not located next to the changing room, but all the way in the back of the waiting room. I had to go through the waiting room full of people, all, in my paper outfit! After passing the waiting room twice, I finally lay down on the table of the famous MRI tunnel. I was a lot more nervous and ashamed, but at least with an empty bladder. The Bitch quickly explains to me in an irritated way what is going to happen, while standing next to me with an enormous needle for the infusion. My veins are really hard to find, I know from experience, but with this needle she is messing enormously with my hand. Needle in, needle out, not a pleasant feeling at all. I try to explain the bitch in a nice and sweet way that normally they use my other hand because there the veins are thicker and easier to find. Without looking at me she takes my other hand, but again, she can’t do it. I start to believe that it’s not because of my veins, but because of her. “I shouldn’t listen to other people”, I hear her mumbling to herself. I feel like a sad and poor object at the moment. She finally gives it another try at pocking in my other hand and again she starts to grumble. Finally the needle is in. Thank God! I let her know that it is hard for me to lift my other arm because of the recent removal of some lymph nodes. Again I hear her grumbling, “Couldn’t you have told me before?? Now I need to check if the whole MRI procedure can continue!” and she walks away. ‘Luckily’, she returns with the message that we can continue and that I am allowed to go in the tunnel. She explains me that she will fill up the liquid again, at half of the scan. This is good to know. At least I will know when I am on half time.

I understood that in Holland, being in the tunnel of the MRI, you keep in touch with the doctor. And if I am correct, you get a little device in your hand that you can squeeze when something is wrong. Squeezing puts you in contact with the doctor in charge. You even get to listen to some music and you can bring along your own music, trying to minimalize the sounds of the MRI.

Unfortunately, nothing of all above mentioned in my current situation. I have to lay down on a stiff board table with two wholes in it. My breasts fit exactly in it. I lay my head down to the left side. My arms have to be stretched out next to my head. It hurts incredibly but I promise myself to continue and finish it. I have to. The Bitch says something to me that I can’t hear and in a natural reflex I turn my head around, but at that moment I bang my head very hard against the wall: BENG!!! Ouch! Stupid me, I am in the tunnel of course! I realize that there is no possibility to move. Pfff, I am already smothery. The Bitch still screams something at me while I feel that the table where I am laying at starts to move. Not much later I hear an enormous noise of the tunnel. Waves of very loud noises alternated by loud ticking. It keeps going on. I feel I don’t know if I can keep going on… I try to calm myself, but I feel like screaming real loud: “I want to get OUT!” My arm hurts immensely. ‘Renate, remind yourself of beautiful and nice moments’, I try to calm myself. ‘Come on girl keep going! It’s only 12 minutes of your whole life’. While I lay there very uncomfortable, I manage to think about something that makes me happy: happy moments with Maarten and the boys, friends and family. In my mind I also start reading the cozy magazine LINDA. It may sound funny but this Dutch magazine always makes me happy. In my mind I turn the pages; beautiful pictures, interesting interviews and funny stories, Dutch happiness.

And all of a sudden, the sounds stopped and the table moves back again. I survived! I am not claustrophobic or quickly panting at all, but this MRI… I decide I never ever want to experience this again, or I will choose to have an anesthesia…

On recommendation by others we decided to make an appointment for a second opinion at the Presbyterian in New York. We will leave right away after receiving the last results, the ones of the MRI. Just before our departure, we pick them up so I can add these to the papers of NY. While in the car I am quit anxious and I open the envelope to read the outcome of the MRI. All my faith and hope drop immediately. If I understand what I read, their advice is to remove the lump in my other breast. I kind of forget about this lump, but the Bitch of the MRI reminds me about it. Maarten immediately contacts the surgeon and he responds amazingly: he is able to operate me immediately the next day in order to remove this tumor. One extra ride in this crazy turmoil.

Removal number three.

The results show that the tumor is mitigated. ‘But’, the pathology department tells me, ‘the tumor has a weird shape so it is a good thing that it has been removed’. I am not really sure if this is something that I wanted to know…

Due to the unexpected extra operation we had to cancel the meeting in New York. As they are very busy they let us know that a new meeting can only take in 2 weeks. After talking to several people, Maarten and I have decided that it would be better to have my treatments back in Holland.

With the help of my mum and sister we get in touch with an oncologist in Holland. All my results that have been translated by a sweet friend have been scanned and sent to the oncologist and we made an appointment. I have a good feeling about this. My family in Holland feels very relieved: finally they can do something for me. For me it feels good to be able to speak my own language during this period of fighting this terrible disease. This knowledge calms me. But the fact that I have to leave Maarten and the children behind doesn’t feel right at all. My boys are very relaxed and positive. “Everything will be alright mum. Really, we will be OK!”, they try to comfort me. At the end I do believe this is the right decision: Maarten can continue his work and the boys can continue their school and meeting up with their friends. Without being confronted with a sick wife respectively mother who can’t stand for the person she wants to be for them.

We have to get through this together. We all do. I promise my boys that I will come back strong and healthy. Stronger and healthier than never. I get my act together. I can do this, together with my three men, family and friends. Holland, here I come!!!