The Cancer Scare

I don't know what it is about Emergency Room doctors on the graveyard shift, but they suck. I apologize for sweeping generalizations, but they do. I mean, I nearly died in the BMH emergency room a few weeks back when I was in anaphylaxis for an allergic reaction, and I was told that I wasn't having an allergic reaction. I know the hours suck-- I've worked overnight before. My husband worked midnights for YEARS. But, seriously, get your shit together and don't take your dislike of your shift out on the patients. (Again, this might not be the case for all night shift ER doctors, but it has been for every freaking one I've ever run into.)

So, my husband had been laying in a bed for an hour before they told me that they expected he had a pulmonary embolism and needed a CT scan. They wheeled him away at 2am, gave him the intravenous dye and did the CT scan. While he was getting the scan done, I called his job and told him that he wouldn't be in for Thursday or Friday. He was wheeled back to the little area they had him (bed #19) at about 2:30, and we waited for the results.

At 3:15am, the ER doctor arrived with results. "I have some good news," he said. "You don't have a pulmonary embolism. However, we were able to see part of your liver, and there are a couple of masses on them. They might be cancerous. I'll be right back." And then he left.

I'm not kidding or exaggerating. That's what happened. He dropped the C-Bomb and took off before I could even say, "What?????"  He just left.

After disbelief, rage was the next emotion that hit me. I was furious at my husband. He is 43 years old, and he has effing CANCER????? How did he not go to the doctor earlier? I remember exactly what I said to him...

"You are stubborn, stupid and selfish. If you went to the doctor sooner, we wouldn't be in this situation. How am I supposed to explain this to the kids? I am PISSED at you!"

And then I paced. I paced for hours. Literally. I walked from the foot of his bed to the nurse's station and back. I think I wore a track in the floor. So many thoughts were going through my mind, especially since something similar happened to a friend of mine. My friend's brother wasn't feeling well for weeks. He finally went to the hospital and, long story short, they found out that he has STAGE THREE colon cancer. Oh, by the way, he is only 34 years old.

As you can imagine, thoughts were running wild through my head. What kind of cancer is it? All of the body's blood filters through the liver, so it could have been anything. How far along is he? What stage is he in? Is he going to die? How long do we have to prepare? Is our life insurance paid up? How am I going to tell the kids? What are we going to do?

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I let rage consume me, since it was a lit easier than grief. He had his eyes closed, but I shot him dirty looks every time I laid eyes on him. I was livid. I was furious with the doctor for dropping the bomb like that. I asked to speak with him again, but he was "busy."

I saw him sitting at his desk, and he was "busy."  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but he was "busy." I wanted to stab this frigging doctor. I had so many questions and he wouldn't come to me to answer them. He didn't come over to me for HOURS, while my husband shuddered and sweat in his hospital bed, waiting for the next steps.

The secretary told me at 5:45 that he was going to be admitted. I demanded to see the doctor and threatened to walk over to him. He reluctantly walked over to me.

To be completely honest with you, that was a week ago and I can't remember what I asked him. He kept telling me that someone from Oncology would speak with me, and he couldn't give me any answers. I asked him a lot of questions, and he said that they were questions for the oncologist-- literally every question was answered like that. I think the only thing he confirmed was that he was going to be admitted.

That's it. That's all I had.

By 6:45, I was absolutely exhausted. I was drained. I could barely keep my eyes open. I knew that he was sleeping. I woke him up and told him that I needed to get a couple of hours of sleep, and would be back. I kissed his sweaty forehead and left.

We live about 7 minutes from the hospital, give or take the traffic lights. I got home at about 7:00 and jumped online to let those closest to me know what was going on. The kids were waking up for camp, so I got them ready, gave them breakfast, and didn't mention anything about Daddy. I think they thought he left for work. our kids are 6, so they really didn't need to know anything at that moment-- Especially anything about cancer.

My mother left with the kids at 8am. I slipped into my bed and closed my eyes.

How it all began.

On Monday, July 7, he wasn't feeling well. He complained that his stomach and back were bothering him. He worked Bingo the night before for our daughter's baton twirling team, The Sparklers. He brought home food from Wendy's and flopped onto the couch. We went to bed. Everything was normal. He woke up on Monday morning just not feeling well.

On Tuesday, he was grumpy and complained that his back and stomach were really bothering him. He had the chills when we went to bed. They were so bad I told him I'd shut off the air conditioner. He said he was cold and hot at the same time, and wanted to leave it on but use another blanket. I grabbed an extra blanket and covered him with it.

On Wednesday, he was worse. He still went to work, though. He actually worked both of his jobs-- He's a police officer and works in two different towns. He didn't get home until midnight and looked absolutely horrid. He told me that he made an appointment with Dr. Rac for Friday.

On Thursday, he only went to one job, which is very unusual for him. The guy NEVER calls in sick.  He came home and sat on the couch. He didn't eat dinner. He went up to bed at about 7:00, and didn't come downstairs. I checked on him a few times, and he was sound asleep.

On Friday, he went to the doctor. It was the second day in a row that he called in sick. The fact that he called in sick two days in a row really worried me. He came back from the doctor and told me that his back was in such spasms that he got 12 novocaine shots up and down his back. The doctor prescribed Vicodin and Cipro for what she felt was a kidney infection. He was prescribed a couple of other things, but I can't remember what they were. He went to sleep at about 5:30.

He didn't wake up until Sunday evening around 7pm. Sure, he got up to go to the bathroom, but nothing else.

On Monday, he made his way back to the couch. He was crabby, snapping at me and the kids. He wasn't himself. He hadn't gotten his blood drawn the way the doctor ordered, and I went into nagging wife mode. He ignored me. Usually, when I nag, he does whatever I'm asking. (I rarely nag.)

On Tuesday, I had enough. He still hadn't gotten his blood drawn. His color was off. He wasn't getting better. I got him in the car and took him to get his blood drawn. While I was waiting, I called the doctor and told him that he needed to come in. My friend, Stacey, was nearby, and she came in to watch the kids while I brought him to the doctor. The doctor suggested he go to the hospital, but he said that he was feeling better. She told him that this was a warning sign and if he feels ANYTHING different, he needed to go to the emergency room.

We caught up on an episode of Masterchef and went to bed at about 11pm. He called in to work for the rest of the week. We went to sleep.

At 12:31am, he woke me up with, "Candice, you need to take me to the hospital." I flew out of bed, woke my mom to let her know what was going on and to listen out for the kids in case they got up, got dressed and drove him to the hospital. No joke, I dropped him off in front of the ER at 12:45am.

By the time I parked the car, they already had him on a gurney and were wheeling him into the back of the ER. I followed, no idea what was going on. I must say, though, I was pissed that it had come to this point. Why hadn't he taken care of himself? Why didn't he get his blood drawn sooner? I was livid.

And so that began our unfortunate adventure at Brookhaven Memorial Hospital...