Although I realize that everyone already knows that Sarah’s report was benign, I have been promising the story behind the report–and here it is!
Last Tuesday morning, I came down to the kitchen and found Sarah eating breakfast.
Since it was Day Thirteen of our wait and I knew that news could arrive at any moment, I wanted to chat with her a few minutes in an attempt to alleviate any possible fears she might have been dealing with. I reminded her that even if the diagnosis did come back as cancer, that didn’t automatically mean that she would need chemo or a mastectomy. I told her that some breast cancers are cured simply by surgically removing the cancerous mass and that she shouldn’t automatically default to the worst case scenario if we got news we didn’t want to hear.
Sitting with her in the early morning light, it occurred to me that this was not the kind of conversation any mother should be having with her 19-year old, college freshman daughter. But it’s the conversations about hard things that cushion the soul when the potential of hard times looms.
And with all the cancer hardships she’s already been through, I didn’t want her to hear the word “malignancy” and automatically think that meant she was going to lose her hair and important body parts. I wanted her heart to be at rest– as much as it is possible to have a restful heart when one is waiting on a biopsy report.
She finished her breakfast, we shared our morning hug and prayer, and she headed out the door to class—brave and smiling as always, and yet I could see the tension on her face, the stress behind her eyes.
And I thought, “Please, let today be the day.”
I decided to check in with our local doctor’s office again just to make sure no results had come in that someone had forgotten to pass on.
No luck. No results.
As the morning slowly dwindled onward, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to call Greenville (where the biopsies had been done) again. I gave Sarah’s name and date of birth and explained the situation. The woman on the phone said, “Wait just one minute, please.”
When she finally came back on the phone she said, “I’m looking at Sarah’s results right here.”
My heart began to ricochet and I felt just a little light-headed as she continued, “I will tell you what I already told her doctor when we sent the report and that is that we are recommending clinical management.”
I sat there for a moment trying to calm myself down long enough to think about those words.
Clinical management. I mean, that sounds good, right?
She didn’t use any scary words like malignancy, cancer, troublesome, worrisome, surgery, or chemo. Just plain old clinical management!
I did a small, internal, happy dance and immediately called Steve who had gone home for lunch. I told him, “I think I have good news!” and explained what I had just heard. Although he was also excited, we both agreed that before we told Sarah anything, we needed to have it in writing and we needed to understand exactly what clinical management meant.
I quickly dialed our local doctor’s number to see why no one had called us yet; turns out I had just missed them—they were closed for lunch from noon to one o’clock.
I spent a very long hour trying to get some work done but I was so nervous and distracted, it wasn’t much use. At exactly one minute after the hour, I called again and told the receptionist what I was calling about. She said the nurse was in with a patient but would get back with me as soon as she could.
Well. Almost an hour passed during which time I got a plaintive text from Sarah, “Do you think we might hear anything yet today?”
And with that, I’d had had enough.
I turned off my computer, grabbed my purse and said out loud to no one, “I’m going in!” (I felt a little like I was in a Mission Impossible scenario.)
After poking my head into Steve’s office to let him know that his soft-spoken, mild-mannered wife was off to stage a sit in at the doctor’s office, I took off on my mission.
(Now let me just make it clear that I would never have dreamed of doing something like this if I hadn’t been assured that Sarah’s results were available. Even a desperate mama understands that there’s no sense in asking for something that isn’t available to give.)
At the doctor’s office, I told the receptionist I needed to speak with the nurse I had talked with earlier. I was ushered into the back area and the nurse I was looking for happened to be standing right there. As soon as she saw me she exclaimed, “Honey, I know you want your results, but I’m telling you I can’t find them anywhere!”
I replied, “I called Greenville about an hour ago and they said final results recommending clinical management had been sent here. So first, I need to find out what clinical management means and second, I need you to know that I am not going to look at my daughter’s face one more time tonight and tell her that we have no news. I’m going to stay here until someone finds the results.”
By this point a second nurse had poked her head out to listen while the first nurse (trying her very best to be helpful) started looking through charts, computers, files and piles of paper and saying over and over, “But I don’t see the report on the core needle biopsies anywhere. I don’t see how Greenville could possibly have sent it to us!”
As she continued to search, I stood in my lonely little spot another five minutes or so and then said, “I’m just going to go back out to the waiting room and sit there. I’ll be there as long as it takes.”
And so I sat myself down, ready to spend the rest of the day, if that’s what it took. I was feeling way out of my comfort zone (introverts are not widely for this kind of behavior) but I knew I was doing battle for my girl so my discomfited feelings were well worth it.
About half an hour passed. The waiting room had emptied out, and I still hadn’t heard a peep from anyone in the back. Eventually though, the waiting room door opened and the second nurse walked over and took a seat beside me.
She cleared her throat tentatively and said, “Let me just explain to you what has happened here. After we had all looked everywhere for the report without finding it, I decided to call Greenville and see what was going on. And this is what I found out: the report you were given over the phone this morning was not the correct report.”
I stared at her, aghast and said, “Not the correct report? What do you mean, not the correct report?”
She said, “Well, it was definitely a report on Sarah. However, it seems as though Greenville’s system is set up so that biopsies aren’t even entered into the patient’s record until the pathologist has signed off on them. And since the record of the biopsy wasn’t in Sarah’s file yet, the woman who you talked with was instead looking at Sarah’s ultra sound report from back in December. She looked up the right name, and the right date of birth but she read to you the results that were in front of her without checking the date. When I called back and asked her to double-check the date of the procedure, we discovered the problem.”
I said, “So if the report I heard this morning wasn’t referring to the core needle biopsies, then ‘clinical management’ means nothing and we’re right back to where we started–not knowing whether or not she has breast cancer.”
She nodded and said, “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
She added,“However, I do have some good news. During the time that you’ve been sitting here, the final report from the pathologist actually did just come in on our computer.”
I went from despair back to hope again until she added,“Unfortunately, the results can’t be given to you until your doctor has signed off on them and she is on vacation until Thursday.”
Well. She might just as well have put ten pounds of raw hamburger in front of a pack of ravenous coyotes. I knew that the Final Biopsy Report was sitting within just a few feet of where I was sitting; I also knew there was no way I was going to give up on the chase with the answer that close.
I made myself stay calm and channeled all my energies into trying to help her understand where I was coming from. Thankfully, she was a real sweetheart, even tearing up a little as we talked. She was sympathetic about the wait we’d endured, and very compassionate when I told her that Sarah was already a cancer survivor one time over. I told her that waiting one more day for news on the cancer front was just impossible, especially when I knew that the news was available to give.
After I had talked myself out she said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Even though the doctor is on vacation, I am going to text her and tell her that I am sending the report. Once she has seen it, one of us will call you with results before closing.”
And that was that.
I had walked into the office buoyant and hopeful, 99% certain that the news for Sarah was good. I left the office discouraged and deflated and right back to where I started—not knowing whether or not Sarah had breast cancer.
I went back to Steve’s office and told him the story, fighting back tears the whole time. Then I decided that I might as well take my stressed self to the bank and the grocery store to fill the time while we waited. I had just pulled into the bank’s drive thru window and put my check in the plastic tube when my cell phone rang.
I glanced down at my phone. It was the doctor’s office. It was The News.
I figured the bank teller would just have to wait a moment as I clicked on the phone and found the courage to say hello. My sweet nurse friend said she had heard back from the doctor and it was okay to tell me that the breast biopsies were . . . benign!
(God bless doctors on vacation who are willing to take messages from distressed but determined moms.)
The medical terminology from the biopsy report was “benign compressed breast ducts surrounded by fibromyxoid stroma in the left breast; fibroadenoma in the right breast.:
But all of it was wonderfully, beautifully benign.
I grabbed my envelope of money from the plastic tube, threw my grocery shopping plans to the wind, and sped off down the road to share the good news with Steve. He and I then headed back to the house to tell Sarah.
We made our way up to the third floor where Sarah was working on her computer and waiting–always and ever waiting. She gave our faces a quick glance, discerned we had brought news, and slowly got up from her chair and stood in front of us, almost like someone awaiting sentencing.
Steve and I put our arms around her and after a moment’s pause I said, “Baby Girl, how does cancer-free sound to you?”
Against my chest, I felt her head nod just once, and then she was perfectly still, standing encircled in our arms.
Steve prayed briefly and then we all sat and just talked a few minutes. There really wasn’t any loud rejoicing or laughter at that particular moment. We were all just so wrung out from the waiting, from the stress of not knowing whether or not life was going to change in one terrible instant.
After a last hug, Steve left to go back to work while Sarah and I sat on her bed and talked some more. I filled her in on all the crazy events of the day, all the hoops I had jumped through to get that report. She was especially intrigued by my account of my doctor’s office sit in. When I had finished telling it to her, she looked at me very seriously and said, “Thanks Mom, for doing that. I know that wasn’t at all in your comfort zone so . . . just . . . thank you.
We talked a while longer and then I walked across the room to pick up Summer. When I glanced back across the room at Sarah, I saw that she was finally crying– finally getting to cry those tears of release that she had been holding in for two weeks. It made my mama heart rejoice to see the relief, the sudden peace on her face. It made the long, challenging day of chasing down the results and acting in a decidedly not-introverted way all worthwhile. I sat beside her and cried with her. Together. At peace. No better place to be.
And this morning at breakfast? This is what I saw.
A young lady looking forward to many more breakfast conversations that don’t include the word cancer.
So very thankful.
So thankful!
I am so happy for all of you! What a relief. Praise God.
Thanks, Jessica! Happy is definitely the word. 🙂
What an incredible, inspiring story! You are an amazing family. Rejoicing with you at the good news. Sorry that Mamma Bear had to bare her teeth to get those results though. God is good and may His blessings continue to rain down on you.
Linda in Pittsburgh
Linda,
Yes, it was truly quite a day so many ups and downs. So thankful it ended on an “up!”
Thank you for sharing your day…my favorite part is Sarah thanking you for going outside your comfort zone for her. In the midst of all this stress, she was still thinking of others; what a testament to her, her parents and how she was raised.
Sue Ellen,
I also thought it was so sweet of her to think of thanking me–she knows better than most people how out of character that is for me. But you do what you gotta do! 🙂
I think it should be illegal to make anyone wait that long for biopsy results! I’m beyond happy that you got to hear the words benign and pray that Sarah never again has to face that wait for results.
Anonymous,
Yes, “benign” is a lovely word, isn’t it? 🙂
This is just great! It is awful waiting on results like this and to go. I’m sure there have been many people that would have liked to have done something similar. It took real courage for an introvert to do that but the Momma Bear came out!
Phyllis
Mama Bear doesn’t come out very often, but every once in a while, she finds it necessary to make an appearance!
I could hardly finish reading your story because my vision was blurred with tears. Thanks for sharing your heart & your story. Kay
Kay,
And thank YOU, for caring enough to cry with us.
I have had breast cysts since 1975 and have been told I am a radiologist nightmare. For years I had to have ultrasounds after the mammogram. I had to have breast surgery after a needle biopsy revealed a growth. I waited for the results of the biopsy and finally called my Gyn who had not received the results either then called the radiologist who told me it was benign. The surgeon’s nurse called later that day to tell me I needed to come in and discuss the results. I refused telling her I got the results from the radiologist. After a second phone called I agreed to go in but let them know I was not happy. It all worked out but I was not pleased with the way it was handled. God calmed me and I have not had any more problems. Still have cysts but nothing is done now except yearly mammograms. So thankful Sarah is cancer free.
Ann,
I agree, that sounds like a very awkward way of telling you about your results! I don’t know why they made you come in when you already knew the results. Some things just don’t make a lot of sense. So very happy you got good new, though.
Though I already knew the outcome of the events of that day it raised my blood pressure I think. It also made me cry thinking of the day you spent getting the good results. Seems to me getting the results should not have been this painful. I will just be thankful this episode is behind the Smith family!
Cindy,
I DO hope your blood pressure has gone back to its regular level! 🙂 And yes, we’re ready to put this episode behind us.
Sat here trying to read around the tears welling up. So thankful that it all turned out ok. Praise God from whom ALL blessings flow.
Wendy,
You are so sweet. Thanks for being thankful (and crying) right along with us.
Such a great story! You are such a wonderful mom and I am so happy with the good news. Take care and enjoy your day!
Shawn,
It’s pretty easy to enjoy ANY day when good results have arrived! 🙂
So glad it’s all clear! Amen!! Made me cry… Thanks for sharing. Now back to life!!
Catherine,
Back to life. A great way to put it!
This was so wonderful to read, I had duck bumps on my goose pimples. Again, Praise the Lord, that now you guys can finally relax.
Sharyn,
Duck bumps on your goose pimples? That I would love to see! And yes, we are enjoying relaxing.
And now I’m crying. Thankful for a God that knew those results from the very beginning and gave you a peace during a very long wait.
Leigh Anne,
Yes, we were ever so thankful for that peace. Regardless of the results, the peace would have remained.
I think “Mrs. Pam” and I would like you to include the parenthetical term (Code K) at the end of the blog title next time, so we will know that we need to have KLEENEX beside us before we start reading! (Wink) Hooray for Mama Bear for stepping up to the plate!
Twin Clarinets,
Hmmm. Code K. A great idea! (And I know Mrs. Pam is always on board with great ideas.)
I confess I checked back here again and again looking for the ‘results post’ that I knew was coming. Worth the wait… what a great story!
Hope the whole Smith family had a relaxing, stress-free weekend during which you got to sooth your frazzled-ness and wallow in the joys of the words “cancer-free”!
Kristina,
That results post took a whole lot longer to write than I thought it would–thanks for checking back in and not giving up on me! Yes, we have indeed soothed our frazzled-ness over the past few days; we have also done some joy-wallowing. 🙂
Still praising God for such great results and for your persistence Becky. So very thankful for your sharing the entire story. Hope you have a wonderful Monday!
Hugs for sunny Iowa,
Marjie
Marjie,
You’ve got sun and we’ve got snow! Quite a change about. Thanks for being thankful with us!
Never mess with a mama bear. Love the story.
Mel,
Yeah, we mama bears can be a little non-introverted and semi-ferocious when circumstances call for it! Glad I don’t have to it very often, though.
Rejoicing with you! You rock!
Tammy,
Thanks, friend. Thankful to get to rejoice!
I couldn’t read your post fast enough and fighting back the tears. I felt like I was at your side determined that we needed responsible professionals who hold are future. I was
angry that important records are not treated as that. But knowing the end of the story I was able to let go of the anger and praise God for the wonderful report. God bless this family that has been through a hard couple of weeks but now can rest in peace.
Judy,
Yes, peace is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?
Good job, Mama Bear! My tear ducts are acting up…going to find tissues!
Guerrina,
Those tear ducts–always misbehaving! 🙂
Whew! I knew the results, but just reading what you went through has my adrenaline pumping!! “I’m going in!” Wow, loved that part. So happy for all of you!!! And all of us who love and care for you dearly here in the cyber world!!!
Ann,
I know. It’s funny isn’t it, how a story can still be a little nerve wracking even though you already knew the ending? It was nerve wracking to write!
Incredible story about an incredible family. Kudos on a battle well fought.
Love, Deb
Deb,
Thanks. You’re always such an encouragement,
Well that made ME cry. Oh my. So what, if anything, will she need to do in the future? ‘Clinical Management’?
LeeAnne,
Once I heard the word “benign” I never did ask what clinical management meant. I’ll have to check into that!
I can’t believe how much I’m crying over this update… seems like all those NC tears are contagious.
Mrs. Pam,
Well, it’s okay when happy tears are contagious! 🙂
I love this story!
A word to the (very) wise: It looks to my untrained eye that we’re talking fibroids. This has meant to me (and the friends with whom I’ve discussed this who also have fibroids) that I need to go into each mammogram telling the tech that I have fibroids, so that they do all the squeezing necessary to get a really good picture. And if I change mammo screening locations, I need to make sure that my prior mammos are available to them. Oh yeah….and remember all this if/when they call next year to say she has to re-do the mammogram. It’s only those annoying fibroids!
Jan,
Thanks for the Fibroid Facts. Very good to keep in mind!
What a great story! Love the “refusal to leave without some promise of word” part! So happy for the breakfast smiles.
Mary,
Breakfast smiles are beautiful smiles!