Sorry, we're closed

Monday dawned and I was off to work early so I could then be off to my knee ultrasound in the early afternoon. I sat in the waiting room with other women who were waiting to be called for their tests and couldn't help but wonder if any of them were there for an initial scan to diagnose breast cancer. Impossible to tell. The tables and racks are full of magazines so that conversation isn't required. I read through two continued-to-the-back-pages articles before I was summoned. The ultrasound was quick and I was escorted back to the waiting room. The technician told me to have a seat and wait as my primary doctor wanted to be called immediately and told the results. One article later she returned and said it wasn't a baker's cyst and my doctor said I could head home.

Well, okay. Information in, garbage out. What was it then?

I returned home in time to hear a voice message being left on my telephone answering machine, asking me to call the doctor's office when I got in. I finally got through to the nurse who left the message and she told me the doctor wanted me to get an appointment the next day with a local orthopedist he was recommending. The nurse said she would do an immediate initial call and would also have the ultrasound results sent to the orthopedist's office. I told her I'd wait about 15 minutes before calling for an appointment so that she could pave the way first.

Fifteen minutes later, precisely 4:05 p.m., I called the orthopedist's office and got a recorded message that they were closed for the day. Aw, nertz. Now what? I called my primary doctor's office back and asked for the nurse. I got a recording. I left her a message too and then began to stew.

Tomorrow was pre-chemo day and that meant that I was to start a 3-day regimen of steroids: two pills, twice a day the day before, day of and day after chemo. An anti-inflammatory, Dexamethason is used to prevent nausea associated with chemo. I would need to take two in the morning, but would I be starting chemo on Wednesday? Would I have to postpone?

I didn't want to postpone. Oddly enough, I was psyched to begin the treatment process. Sooner started, sooner done. Sooner I got my so-called normal life back. Wednesday would mark about 7 weeks since my surgery and it seemed like the most life-affecting decision I needed to make in the next 24 hours should relate more to cancer survival than knee pain tolerance. I could hobble along for a few months more.

Come morning, I was taking those pills and that was that.