Hello, Karen. Meet Cancer.
“My mother always used to say: The older you get, the better you get, unless you’re a banana.”—Rose (Betty White), The Golden Girls
In September of 2020, I discovered this banana was getting some brown spots. My Dad was very particular about bananas. He wouldn’t eat a banana that had signs of getting too ripe—or “all rotten”, he would say. A few brown spots are okay, but it means that the next day the banana is darker all over. Wait another day and it’s time to make banana bread.
When the pandemic madness began in 2020, my husband and I started social distancing, wearing masks everywhere and only going out for necessities. For awhile, I had been experiencing a nagging cough, which I assumed was due to colds I had picked up from grandkids. The cough would be bad for a month or so and then it would go away. In September I was due for my annual physical. My blood work was fine. My blood pressure was normal. My PCP said it was unusual for “someone my age” (I hear that far too often now.) to not be on any medication. She put in an order for my annual mammogram. I almost didn’t mention the cough, but when she asked if I had any concerns, “Yeah, I’ve had this cough that keeps coming back.” She looked concerned and said she would order a chest x-ray as well.
I went in the following week for the chest x-ray. First x-ray was front, then left side and right side. The technician asked, “Do you smoke?” No. “Are you a former smoker?” Yes. I had to think for a moment about when I had quit. It was a couple of years before I had my first child. Uhhhmmm, how old is he now? “I quit over 35 years ago.” The tech finished and said the results would be sent to my PCP.
That afternoon, my PCP called. I wasn’t near my phone. She left a voicemail asking that I call her as soon as possible. She sounded agitated. Uh-oh. This doesn’t sound like a little infection that a dose of antibiotics could fix. Don’t panic!
I called her back thinking it would go to her nurse. No, it was my doctor’s personal phone. Okay, maybe panic a little bit. She told me that the x-ray showed a large mass in my left lung. She was referring me to a pulmonologist. She also ordered a CT scan. The first of many to come.
A couple weeks later, I met Lung Guy. He recommended I undergo a bronchoscopy procedure. A small tube is stuck down your gullet so they can feed a tiny egg beater down there to whip around and collect cells for analysis. I hadn’t been coughing that much recently. After he stirred it up, I was sputtering like my husband’s antique tractor.
The next visit with Lung Guy, he told me I have non-small cell Adenocarcinoma, i.e., lung cancer. LUNG CANCER! had been thinking this is what it was, but the words said out loud still shocked me. How could that be? I’ve been healthy my whole life. Up until now. I was a runner, a dancer, and ate healthy. Okay, maybe a little heavy with the cookies. How is this possible?!
Sensing my distress, Lung Guy looked in my eyes and said. “Twenty years ago, this would have been a death sentence.” Gee, thanks, that makes me feel SO much better. He went on, “Today it’s different. Treatment has changed dramatically and continues to improve. You are one of the healthiest lung cancer patients I’ve ever seen. I have a positive feeling about you.” Okay, that does make me feel a bit better.
Meanwhile, I had my mammogram. The report returned saying there was an area of concern and it was recommended I have a second mammogram at the hospital. After another boob squish within two weeks, I was told to stay in the waiting room. Eventually, I was called into a private consultation room. The tech told me there was a spot in my right breast that should have a biopsy.
Well, poop, the hits just keep coming.
The banana was getting darker. Not quite ready to be turned into bread, but getting closer.