Saturday Afternoon, Feb 22, 2014
At the ER, we were immediately taken back to an exam room, and Mathew is prepared for a CT scan of his abdomen, specifically the liver. A doctor came in to ask more questions and went to touch Mathew’s abdomen and said, “Does it hurt here?” and pressed so hard on him, he screamed. I was horrified.
I was sitting there when Mathew walked down the hall to use the restroom and give a urine sample. I recall watching him walk away in the hospital gown and wondering when his calves had become so pronounced. He had always been athletic, slender and muscular but the past year seemed to have been gaining some weight, and now I could see even his calves seemed larger.
I waited there while they took Mathew for the scan. It would be the last time I let him go for any procedure by himself.
Mathew returned from the scan and shortly after the ER doctor came in and looked at me with a bewildered look on her face and said, “We can’t even see his liver. There’s a large mass in his abdomen.”
I recall feeling like I was in a mental fog. And while I remember the events of that day, the clarity that would settle in as we progressed with Mathew’s treatment, hadn’t settled in yet. There is something about that clarity that I feel is a result of being on high alert for a long time. But on that day some part of me was hoping we were still dealing with something that had a straightforward resolution.
Everything started to move quickly. I ran out to the ER waiting room to let my parents know he was being admitted and then followed him up to his room. I was thinking of the times I had heard of people having large masses in their body that were removed and benign. I was hanging on to that thread of hope.
It may sound like you’ve come in on the middle of a conversation, and it is because this is the day Mathew’s and my concerns are finally taken seriously. Everything before this day was a nightmare, this day was the start of a new nightmare but one where something is being done.
At the ER, we were immediately taken back to an exam room, and Mathew is prepared for a CT scan of his abdomen, specifically the liver. A doctor came in to ask more questions and went to touch Mathew’s abdomen and said, “Does it hurt here?” and pressed so hard on him, he screamed. I was horrified.
I was sitting there when Mathew walked down the hall to use the restroom and give a urine sample. I recall watching him walk away in the hospital gown and wondering when his calves had become so pronounced. He had always been athletic, slender and muscular but the past year seemed to have been gaining some weight, and now I could see even his calves seemed larger.
I waited there while they took Mathew for the scan. It would be the last time I let him go for any procedure by himself.
Mathew returned from the scan and shortly after the ER doctor came in and looked at me with a bewildered look on her face and said, “We can’t even see his liver. There’s a large mass in his abdomen.”
I recall feeling like I was in a mental fog. And while I remember the events of that day, the clarity that would settle in as we progressed with Mathew’s treatment, hadn’t settled in yet. There is something about that clarity that I feel is a result of being on high alert for a long time. But on that day some part of me was hoping we were still dealing with something that had a straightforward resolution.
Everything started to move quickly. I ran out to the ER waiting room to let my parents know he was being admitted and then followed him up to his room. I was thinking of the times I had heard of people having large masses in their body that were removed and benign. I was hanging on to that thread of hope.
It may sound like you’ve come in on the middle of a conversation, and it is because this is the day Mathew’s and my concerns are finally taken seriously. Everything before this day was a nightmare, this day was the start of a new nightmare but one where something is being done.
Comments
Post a Comment