Today we went to the hospital for Steve’s lymph node biopsy. There is something hideous about waiting, yet again, in yet another shabby waiting area – made relentlessly cheery by the addition of a few dog eared posters.
We know about ‘crooked thinking’ (I teach it in workshops – I ought to know) , we know that investigation doesn’t equal definite, but our skewed take on life means that we think of ‘worst case’ and work from there. We even came across the black bags that we used last time for the post op drains and unspoken, agreed that they ‘might come in handy’. Steve was ashen this morning and whilst waiting needed to do a wee quite disproportionally to the amount he had drunk. The radiographer called him with a voice that sounded to me very much like that of an executioner from death row.
And, within minutes Steve bounced back – and I mean bounced. ‘We can go, he can’t find it’. ‘Incompetence’, I inwardly screamed, and gently said – well, did he scan it, did he look? (Funny how a nursing background makes you a leading expert on all things medical!) . Well, he did do an ultrasound and there was no node to biopsy – did you hear me – no node to biopsy!
Now, I’ve told you before, miracles are low on the evidence base continuum, but we all prayed and now there is no node. Find another reason if you like – but I know where my loyalties lie.
We do still have to wait for the results of the CT scan – but we feel much more positive about that now. So, here we are, back at home – rethinking, reprioritising and being hopeful. What a difference a day makes. Praise God.