Coming out of the fentanyl fog the last words one wants to hear are "small tumor." This will kill your buzz; it did mine.
Then instead of a nice nap (which I took anyway) there is the consult with the surgeon. Dr. G.I. indicated that the growth was small (about 2 cm, which didn't seem small to me) and he was quite delighted with himself that he found it. Indeed, he had every right to be happy since without this screening the tumor would have grown inexorably eventually presenting itself with a clear indication of its intent and that would have been most definitely bad. So yea, good on ya but I sure wish it were just a polyp.
Our normally Happy Thanksgiving now had a bit of a pall. Still I thought, the chances were good that it was caught before it had done something nasty like found other places to settle. Only 2 things would begin to answer that question: a CT scan and the surgical removal of the tumor. The former was done almost immediately and the latter within a couple of weeks.
This year Thanksgiving would be a difficult affair regardless of my condition since Lindsey's mother Iris had just passed away and her Dad Jack was bringing the extended family together for a dinner at a local resort (no one was into cooking/cleaning) followed by a remembrance luncheon for Iris followed on that Sunday by an internment of her ashes at Mountain View Cemetery in Oakland. That was intense enough but adding to the burden was my surgery the next day. My deepest concern was for Lindsey who bore the brunt of so much during Iris' decline, relocating and supporting Jack, dealing with the minutiae of the estate. Though I helped as I could I was now on her list and I was concerned.
This was a tough Thanksgiving but the family held together beautifully if not joyfully. And for that I give thanks.
