Strange Love, Doctor....

Or- How I stopped worrying and learned to love (not) the probe.

So, there we were; Karen and I in a stuffy little procedure room, waiting. And waiting. Karen is reading "Mutant Message DownUnder" and I am trying not to be wigged out by the apparatus surrounding us. I am to have a 'rectal ultrasound' and I can hardly wait. Dana, the nurse, told me to strip down and cover myself with the sheet. "The doctor will be in when he is finished with another patient." Finished? As in done? Or done in? She went on to explain. "During the procedure a probe the size of a quarter will be inserted into your rectum and the doctor will ..." I stopped listening after she said 'quarter'. I suspect they want you to think quarter, as in 1/4. But I know a quarter is one inch in diameter. Besides, I have already seen the evil device.

A gleaming stainless steel Love Rocket of Doom waits to probe me; to- (cue the theme song from the original Star Trek) 'boldly go where no man has gone before.' This sadistic machine the size of the solid fuel booster rockets that propell the space shuttle into orbit, is going to reach an 'asstral plane' inside me. I am not giddy with anticipation.

I look around the room, hoping to find something that will distract my mind from the impending rendevous. I look at the ultrasound monitor. My name is there, along with the doctor's name; Dr. Anders Mellgren. "He sounds Swedish" I tell Karen. "If he talks like the Swedish chef on the Muppets" she says "we're outa here."

A few moments later, in strolls the good doctor. He introduces himself and... of course. You knew it already. He has a Swedish accent. I steal a quick look at Karen but she dodges my eyes. At least, I tell myself, he doesn't look like he just got off the boat. The procedure is uncomfortable, to say the least. How do you describe a deep throbbing pain moving all around in your abdomen? And of course he did not have the data telling him how far in the tumor is, so there was a good deal of unnecessary rectal probing before he asked, in his most deliciously accented English, "How far is it?" I know, I know, there could be all sorts of answers at this point, but I reach around with my hand, extend a forefinger and tell him, "5 centimeters". He backs up a bit and the ultrasound begins. "The worst is over" he says and I am O so grateful.

Karen has not just been waiting patiently while all this is going on. She has been holding my hand, stroking my forehead to help me relax the tension there; and she"s talking to me, making me listen to her voice, reminding me to breathe, just breathe. I try to focus on her words, her touch and I meet with some success. I am sure there will be other times to practice this teamwork.

When Dr. Mellgren is done he gives us a quick rundown of what he found and the news is good. No apparent involvement in fatty tissue or muscle outside the rectum. He leaves and Dana gives me some cold wet paper towels to wipe my brow and then we are alone, again. I clean up and we leave, starting the long road back home. Today I called down to find out if the surgeon has looked at all the test data. We want to know what he has found and what he recommends. But we are still waiting. Waiting requires patience which is why we are called 'patients'.

I am, we are, thankful to all of you for your support. I am glad angels have found Karen. I worry most about Karen and how she is holding up in all this. The last time I had cancer I knew an angel too. Maybe someday I will tell you about her and all she did for me and many other people living with cancer. Have a great weekend and take care of each other. We love you all.
Mike