As I said in my previous post, I’d gone to Dr. Pitt annually for about two years. He, of course, knew my medical history and like most doctors found it intriguing.
On my third visit he said to me, “It’s been almost twenty years since you were first diagnosed with ovarian cancer. I’d really like to go in to check you out. See if we can find out where we’re at now.”
Surgery isn’t one of my favorite things to participate in especially if I’m the one on the operating table. But he convinced me it would be in my best interest to have this exploratory operation. I agreed to go ahead with it, albeit reluctantly. What difference would another scar on my abdomen make, anyway?
We scheduled a date and I went under the knife, again. The difference this time proved to be nothing was removed—or put in for that matter. I’d had so much removed before I wondered sometimes why I wasn’t hollow. (Unfortunately it fills up with fat, wouldn’t you know.)
A day or two after the surgery, still in the hospital but finally coherent, Dr. Pitt came in to talk with me. His demeanor was somber as he said, “I went in hoping to see nothing out of the ordinary but it appears to me there are ‘seeds of cancer’ on your liver.”
“What do you mean, “seeds of cancer?”
“It means there’s the start of something there, I think, but that we shouldn’t do anything right now. Sometimes disturbing it makes it worse. But it needs watching. It doesn’t appear that it’s causing you any problems at this time.”
“No,” I said. “I feel fine, except for the surgery of course. And I’m not going to worry about it Worry doesn’t help or change anything.”
“That’s the spirit, but it does bear watching.”
Over the years I put the matter out of my mind—even the watching part. I’d escaped the “Big C” one more time. What could a few little seeds of cancer do to me anyway? My God is bigger than those.
However, cancer has a way sometimes of coming back and smacking you in the face when you least expect it.
