My wife Jackie often spoke of “after the” relating to the myriad of tests and appointments and findings that took over our lives during the dreadfully long four months and 22 days that transpired between my initial diagnosis, given by my primary care doctor, and when my treatment for myeloma began. The way Jackie spoke of “after the” created a little percussion in my mind. One day I was working on a chronology of medical events as a Table of Contents for my medical records binder when suddenly the effort shifted to this writing.
Time moves on strange new cogs;
sometimes furiously fast,
sometimes holding nearly still,
after the shock
after the call
after the “C” word
after the MRI and the CT scan.
After the hurried search for a doctor in our new home state.
After the swift transfer of medical records.
After the meeting with the new primary care doctor.
After the astonishing number of blood tests.
After the repeat brain scan.
After the PET scan that was
after the PET scan
after the PET scan machine broke
after the nuclear gunk was already circulating in my body.
After the news that my cancer was considered “not urgent,”
after the faceless oncology clinical panel reviewed my case.
After the long wait for an appointment with a local oncologist
after the exclamation that he thought my cancer was indeed urgent,
after the “stat” blood tests and first bone marrow biopsy
after the earlier tests showed that my kidneys were looking janky
after the switch to high doses of ibuprofen
after the narcotics did not touch the pain caused by bone lesions I did not know I had.
After the words “incurable but manageable.”
After the calls to family and friends.
After the support group meeting.
After the “hugging tour” we made to our old home town,
After the closure meeting with my former oncologist
after the ten years he followed my MGUS with no indications that myelomas were forming.
After the first talk of a stem cell transplant.
After the referral to a cancer center that specializes in myeloma.
After the oncology social worker session.
After the Thanksgiving week.
After the first meeting with the myeloma specialist,
after the next set of blood tests,
after the 24-hour pee test.
After the repeat of the 24-hour pee test,
after the lab accidentally threw out the first specimen.
After the referral to yet another facility for a CT-guided bone marrow biopsy of a spinal lesion.
After the news that the spinal biopsy was a “swing and a miss.”
After the decision for another bone lesion biopsy.
After the thyroid scan.
After the Holidays.
After the thyroid biopsy.
After the holistic review of my overall health,
after the next comprehensive set of blood work.
After the trip to Colorado to hold family close.
After the glorious walk in the Garden of the Gods.
After the tears from the sadness,
after the useless thoughts of what I might miss
after the announcement of my only daughter’s first engagement.
After the schedule for a second biopsy, this time of a lesion in my humerus bone.
After the radiologist changed her mind about the procedure,
after the decision that the sacral lesion would be a better target.
After the trauma of losing my agency,
after the specific words, “I do not consent for a fellow to perform this repeat procedure,”
after the fellow performed the procedure anyway,
after the radiologist thought I was unconscious, but I was not.
After the total meltdown late one night,
after the long period of hearing nothing from anyone
after the fourth month of my cancer untreated.
After the second meeting with the myeloma specialist,
After the second opinion from another premiere cancer center.
. . .
After the treatment plan is decided,
then we’ll finally know
what direction we are headed until
after the next unexpected thing.
© Mary Rose 2023