Back in December, Michael had his annual CT/PET scan which revealed a suspicious spot on his liver. For two weeks we lived with dread and fear that it meant his cancer had returned and metastasized. A subsequent scan, however, ruled out cancer, thank goodness. That suspicious spot, it was deduced by his oncologist, was a remnant from the terrible infection he contracted post-surgery way back last Spring.
His doctor decided to take a wait and see approach, but alas, that suspicious spot has grown more troublesome, causing Michael quite a bit of pain and a sporadic fever. Blood work also showed his white cell count elevated, so clearly we’re dealing with some kind of infection, and the “spot” is most likely an abscess. An ultrasound last week showed the same spot on/near his liver, seemingly unchanged from when he had his scan in December. Nonetheless, since it was causing him so much trouble, his doc decided to have him admitted to the hospital this morning on an outpatient basis to have the abscess drained. Not a pleasant procedure, but it was expected that he would be in and out in a couple of hours.
Well, of course – of course! – when they got in there, it was much worse than anticipated. So I got the call from Michael around lunchtime that they were going to keep him overnight while they continue to drain the abscess and pump him full of antibiotics.
Now, please allow me a few moments of foot stamping and fist shaking. I’m tired of this one-thing-after-another. This has been a three-year ordeal now – it’s been almost exactly three years since Michael was diagnosed with cancer, and though he was declared cancer-free two years ago, the saga has still not ended. And here I am, way beyond Spring Chicken, halfway through my sixth pregnancy, and it doesn’t matter – I’m still the one who has to hold it all together, to be strong, to keep on keepin’ on. I’m tired of health problems that never seem to resolve. I’m tired of having to worry about everyone else and having nobody to worry about me – except me. I’m tired of having to tell the kids, “Dad’s in the hospital . . . again.”
Michael is going to be fine. Me? I don’t know.