To Get Bad News

It was supposed to be a routine test - a hoop to jump through so that my pain management doctor could figure out what pain meds would be safe for me to take. My gastroenterologist had just told me days before that my bloodwork looked good and there shouldn't be any issues, other than those we already know I have.

And then the doctor performing the test showed me the number and what it means, and I was shocked. I tried to absorb what she was saying, but it was difficult. I was alone. I had another medical test to get to in another building on the medical center campus. I couldn't process the information in the moment.

I struggled through my next medical procedure, trying not to drag the person performing the test into the quagmire of emotions that had my brain stuck on overdrive trying to grasp what the previous test result will mean for my life and for my family.

Life doesn't stop because of a new diagnosis. 

So on I went to my parents' house for lunch, to get online for a brief time to answer emails and look up information, and to then take my middle daughter to a doctor appointment. I had just enough time to tell my husband the bad news and have a quick conversation with my mom before I need to leave.

Days later, I finally got a call back from my doctor, who was away for the long weekend following my test. Good news - my bone density scan came out fine. She reviewed my fibroscan and concurred with the diagnosis - with numbers that high, there's no questioning the diagnosis of cirrhosis of the liver caused by autoimmune hepatitis and non-alcoholic simple fatty liver disease. I'll get bloodwork, an ultrasound, and an endoscopy asap, and then every 6 months for the former two, and every year or two for the latter, depending on what they find. 

After getting off the phone with my gastroenterologist, I tried not to think about the what-ifs, but they intruded unbidden. How long until my liver fails? What if I don't qualify for a liver transplant? What if I die before I get one? Will it be months, years, or decades before my liver fails? How long do I have...

The phone rang again, interrupting my descent into OCD doom and gloom. It was my gastroenterologist once more, admitting that the longer she looked at my bloodwork from the past few years, my previous liver biopsy, and my most current endoscopy and colonoscopy, the more confused she became. She is stumped as to how my liver disease could have progressed so quickly without any of the usual markers. A referral to a liver specialist is now in the works. 

It will take months to get all the answers - or some of the answers - or any answers they can get.  My abdominal ultrasound is this coming week. My endoscopy isn't for a month and a half. No word from the liver specialist yet. I'll get my blood drawn the same day as the ultrasound - a Friday - so hopefully I'll get the results from both sometime the following week. 

Until then, I pray. 
I play Cards Against Humanity with my teens and dissolve into tears of laughter. 
I spend three hours at Ikea with my eighteen year old daughter opening nearly every door and drawer we come across, exploring the benefits and curiosities of different fridges and faucets, testing out couches and mattresses, and planning a remodel of our kitchen that will most likely never happen. 
I cuddle with my kids and watch movies...at home or in movie theater recliners. 
I go out to lunch with my husband.
I channel the stress of the what-ifs into organizing my life, getting rid of things that don't serve me, rearranging things that do to work better for me, and continuing to put my time and energy into things that feed my soul.
And I thank God for the supportive, kind, loving people in my life who will help me through whatever is to come.