I lifted my grandson off a carousel with one arm while at the zoo. He’s a fifty pound four-year old. It was easy until I twisted my body to set him on the ground. I felt pain in my side immediately, but nothing that a few Ibuprofen wouldn’t cure. So I vowed to take it easy for a few days and heal.
After two weeks the pain had seemed to move. It was still on my left side only lower. While lying on my back, I felt a lump below my ribs near my abdomen and asked my wife, Jennifer, to inspect me. She went to work on me after I assured her that this wasn’t just another sexual come-on, and she confirmed my findings. So I made an appointment with a nurse.
Call me disrespectful if you need to, but I view medical people – doctors, nurses, and technicians as auto mechanics. So, I guess you can say that I view my body as an auto. I’m like an old Cadillac with a little rust and a need for a muffler. After the customary smile and handshake, the nurse got right down to business by measuring my vitals and questioning me regarding my side pain. I spoke to her in unemotional flat tones and explained that, because of past and recent nightmares, I was pretty sure that I had an alien baby growing inside of me. She gave me that bored humorless look, that I’ve seen so often in my life, then asked me to unbutton my shirt and lay back on the exam table. After kneading my flesh like a bowl of bread dough, she shook her head and sent me down to the X-ray department where I asked the technician if the X-Rays would harm my baby. The Techie played along by saying she didn’t think so. She assured me that she would only take a few shots with a low dose of the ray. On the way out of her area I had the final word and told her that I thought her careless use of the powerful beam had sent my alien baby into a growth mode, and if something dire happened to the Earth, it was on her shoulders.
I was ushered back into the exam room and within a few minutes the nurse returned with my doctor. He’s a good kid – knowledgeable, capable, and he tolerates my sense of humor. Both he and the nurse worked me over some more until he stepped back, stooped, squinted at my stomach and said, “I think you have an enlarged spleen.” He went on to ask a few questions like: Had I been playing contact sports, was my wife using me as a trampoline, or has an elephant sat on me recently, and then suggested that I get right over to our local hospital for a CAT scan.
The nurse at my doctor’s office assured me that she made an appointment for me at the hospital’s CAT department and when I arrived at noon the department secretary was aware of my visit, gave me some forms to fill along with an official wrist band labeled with my personal data and unique patient number.
I returned the forms and asked how long it might be. She smiled and said they would fit me in and she would call down there again if she saw me sitting too long. I guess that I had agreed to that because I sat down, powered my Kindle and read for the next two hours. The growl of my stomach, and a vision of an unhappy alien baby sent me back to the desk to remind the secretary that I was waiting and hadn’t eaten all day. She raised an index finger on one hand and punched the phone with the other, then whispered a few words and bobbled her head while taken instructions from whoever she called.
She hung up, spun in her chair, stooped to a refrigerator and pulled out a white plastic bottle. “It’s a good thing you haven’t eaten because you should have drank the milkshake.”
While shaking the bottle, I asked again about timing. She smiled and assured me it would be soon. So I drank the stuff, waited some more, and sure enough an hour later a nurse came to get me. On our way back to the imaging machine, she told me that I needed to have waited that extra hour for the milk shake to work through my organs.
I let this woman know about my theory and self diagnosis of my alien baby, too. She was a right-down-to-business person. She looked into my eyes for more than a moment and, without smiling, began giving me instructions like a robot. We got along. She got her scans and I thanked her then sarcastically told her that I had never, in my long lifetime, experienced so much fun in a hospital. I looked at my watch as she held the door for me. “Hmmmmmm. Wonder what’s for dinner?” I asked as I passed her.
My wife is a great cook. We talked and laughed mostly about my day’s events over a wonderful Mexican dinner. And then the phone rang. It was my doctor calling to say that he read the results of my tests and that I should return to his office yet that evening for additional blood tests.
The doctor was still there after they withdrew vial after vial of my blood in the lab. He took us into his office. I could see that Jennifer was frightened, while I felt like someone was going to be playing a joke on me. That’s how confident I was. At 68-years-old, I still had that invincible, “I’m in great shape” kind of outlook to my life.
As we took chairs I asked, “So it’s not an alien baby, is it?”
The doctor leaned back against his desk and said, “I think it’s a cancer, Tom.” He went on to explain that my very, very, swollen spleen and my high blood cell count pointed to probably a bone marrow problem and that he would make and appointment with a very good Oncology and Hematology doctor for the following morning. He told us to keep a positive attitude, and that these cancers had excellent medical treatments. “If I’m correct, it’s a cancer, but not one of the worst and you’re really in great shape,” he said.
We all shook hands and walked to the door. Keeping my cool, I stopped and draped my arm over the doctor’s shoulder.
“I’m not denying the cancer, I said. “I just don’t want it to hurt my baby.”