How did we get here?

One of the questions that doctors have asked in the last couple of months is, "How did you get here?" or to this point in time. Since it all seems so strange and surreal, I suppose it's a good place to start this blog.

Back in September, following a fun-filled and action-packed summer (first camping trip, first Rivercats night game, first Yosemite excursion, our usual getaways to Monterey and Tahoe), the kids went back to school (Hayden in kindergarden, Camryn in 2nd grade). As the typical first cold bugs came home, I joked that "back to school" was more like "back to germs."

But as the kids quickly shook their first round of colds, mine hung on. Finally, I dragged myself to the doctor on a Tuesday afternoon with an earache and a deep cough. It wasn't an unusual visit -- I've been seeing this physician for the last couple of years and show up with some sort of respiratory infection on a pretty regular basis. On this particular visit, I actually asked him, "Why does this keep happening to me?" The doctor had the nerve to suggest I needed better vitamins (which he would happily sell me for $40). Irritated, I received my typical prescription for antibiotics and left.

But later that evening, things took a turn for the worse. I was shaking with chills and huddled under a stack of blankets with a fever near 104 degrees.

I woke up the next morning with such pain in my chest and back that it scared me. As I soaked in a hot bath, I called my sister Wendy for advice. She insisted that I call the doctor back and demand a chest x-ray. This didn't sound like a great idea to me. My physician had gone to dark side -- a la Amway -- and was peddling nutritional supplements in some sort of pyramid scheme. I didn't want to have anything to do with Dr. Vitamin. Besides, I'd already started my antibiotics and just needed them to kick in.

But my chest really hurt, and I was stifling any urge to cough since the pain was so bad. "Just call," Wendy urged. "Maybe you'll get someone else from the practice on the phone." So I did, and a chest x-ray was ordered. But I was so exhausted and didn't have the strength to get myself out the door, let alone keep my eyes open. I suspected I had pneumonia, so why rush to get an x-ray to prove it?

After much stalling and a nice, long nap, I finally dragged myself to the radiological building. The x-ray technician took and retook several sets of images -- just being thorough, I told myself -- and sent me on my way. Of course, I insisted on running a few errands on the way home. I needed to get Halloween costumes for the kids, before all the good ones were picked over. It was September 24th, after all.

By the time I got home, I'd learned that my doctor had been trying to reach me. (I'd forgotten to bring my cell phone with me.) When I was finally able to reach him, his voice sounded serious. The chest x-ray showed pneumonia, he told me, but also showed something else in my chest -- possibly lymphoma. I stood perfectly still, felt the blood drain out of my head, and asked him to repeat what he'd just said. He did, and told me that a CT scan of my chest was needed to confirm that it was, in fact, cancer. I hung up the phone and walked slowly outside to tell Josh the news.

And that is how this whole thing started.