My New Favorite Three Words

(Pssst, It’s Not “You Lost Weight”)

The question was posed to me with the casual tone one might use when inquiring if I had, say, tried the shrimp scampi at Red Lobster. (Haven’t nor am I interested.)

Or maybe something a little more improbable like-have I been to the south of France? (Why don’t they say southern France?) And that would be a big nope, too.

But nope. This question was not banal.

“Have you ever had a needle stuck into your pleural cavity?” the nurse asked.

I gave it consideration. Gave my chin a thoughtful stroke, thanking the gods I didn’t discover a whisker while responding with my pensive look.

“Why no! I’ve had harpoons going into my porta-a-cath when getting chemo. Had blood draws and been poked in the butt with needles, but no, no needles between the ribs. At least in recent memory.”

But first a brief anatomy lesson. The pleural cavity is that space around your lungs. It’s something I’ve never given much thought to. Until now.

Because the left side of my pleural cavity is swimming in fluid. This does not make for happy lungs or allow for an easy breath.

The drama started in October with Covid. Then flu. Then flu part deux. And then Christmas Eve in the ER with severe stomach pain. A week later, I learned I had e-coli and got on antibiotics.

I thought all the nonsense was behind me but never felt quite right. I could no longer dismiss the easily winded sensations as being post-flu. It hurt to bend over. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to turn over in bed. A yawn or sneeze sent ripples of starburst pain over my ribs and side.

And the damn fever rolled back in.

I scrambled looking for a doctor online. My need to see one grew inversely to my inability to drive IF I could find one that was accepting new patients and who could get me in ASAP. (This is a whole nudder topic.)

While I am under Mayo’s care for all matters oncological, acute illness falls beyond that scope, hence my search.

By the time I forced myself to a crawl-in clinic, the nurse scolded me (I am being very generous describing her abrasive behavior) for being there and not at the ER.

So, it’s off to the ER. Not the same one as I went to on Christmas Eve as the care I received there was appalling.

After a three hour wait, I was admitted. A chest x-ray revealed my left lung was half full of fluid.

No wonder I felt like shit on a cracker.

And now the nurse is asking me about that needle in the chest thing.

I am happy to report the anticipation of the procedure was much, much worse than the actual procedure.

But now the real scary part: waiting.

In the meantime, I am pumped full of antibiotics and given high blood pressure meds because my poor heart was having trouble in the crummy working conditions foisted on it by pleural effusion.

Four days. That’s how long I was in the hospital. (Can hardly wait to see the upcoming bills. NOT.)

The blood work was showing improvement but there was one result pending that hung over my head like the sword of Damocles.

It would take 4-5 days to get results, the doctor said. “Watch your portal for results,” he said as we discussed discharge instructions.  

I tried to eek something encouraging from him but he held his poker face.

The elephant in the room was ARE THERE CANCER CELLS IN THE FLUID?

There were no answers, no speculation, until the results were in.

Oh yes. When you have a history of breast cancer, you get greater scrutiny (rightfully so) if you show up with a pleural effusion. Even though the cancer I had was “slow and lazy” and had a bright prognosis, you are acutely aware of the fact that it takes one, and only one, bad cell to upend the apple cart.

I went home with a fist full of prescriptions and a spirometer to build up my lung capacity. To see the measure of my weakened lung was devastating as a woman who loves a good cardio workout.

Breast cancer, double boobectomy, chemotherapy, flu, yadda, yadda, yadda. This was child’s play compared to this acute illness that threatened to literally take my breath away, for good.

But wait! There’s more!

And even worse part: waiting at home. Alone.

I distracted myself as much as I could given my weakened physical and emotional state. Envisioned good outcomes (It’s just boring pneumonia…), tried to deep breathe (haha) and bloody hell….

I cried. A lot.

What if there are cancer cells in that fluid?

I would type a query into Dr. Google and then would snap my computer shut. Don’t go there, I scolded myself.

I woke at 2am the first night home. I planned my funeral. Pondered the question of where I wanted to die. Worried that I might miss burning one of my private journals if they would be discovered after I croaked.

Tried to reconcile the existential will to live with the contradictory sense that death would be a sweet release from the constant pummeling I feel I have been under for the past two years.

I worried that maybe my worry and ponderings about death might create a self-fulfilling prophecy. My god, there’s a winning plan of action: Worry about the worrying.

I made a mental list to update my will and to dispose of my stuff as much as possible. I don’t want to burden my kids with the task of dealing with it.

I checked the health care portal again. No results on the cancer screening. It shocked me to see other test results show just how acutely ill I was.

How crazy it would be to survive breast cancer only to be taken out by pneumonia?

Yesterday afternoon, I checked again. The results where in. The wait was over.

My hands shaking, I clicked it open. Not a whole lot of text. This was good. And there it was:

NEGATIVE FOR MALIGNANCY

I burst into tears. I sobbed. I sobbed some more. I screamed sobbed. I sobbed sobbed.

I sent a two-word text to my sweetie, family and friends who were holding me together while I waited:

NO CANCER!!!!

My sister called after reading it. She too was crying.

And there was much rejoicing.

I’d call this a long-winded post but my lungs aren’t quite back to normal. But they are well on their way to taking a big fat deep breath.

The fever has finally broken, I can breathe without pain and decided that maybe it would be nice to take a few more spins around on this Big Blue Marble.

In the darkest moments of breast cancer, I never felt this sort of existential crisis. I thought during that time I might have some epiphany and be like Jimmy Stewart celebrating his life at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life.

That has changed for me now. I feel like my life was handed back to me on a silver platter and I will never, ever, EVER again take for granted the ability to draw breath.

I ponder what is important to me. The values are unchanged but the fire behind them has been lit.

My motto has been: Life Simply, Love Deeply, Throw Out Shit.

That remains the same. But the colors of it are more intense. The realization that this life, every moment of it, IS A GIFT.

I am a Phoenix. From the ashes. Here I am.

Watch me take flight into a new lease on life.

You do the same, dear one. Do the same.

Thanks so much for reading. You can find me around the internet at www.theresawinn.com, on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram. If you’d like to support my writing in a small way, feel free to contribute to my wishlist.