where we meet is in the silence...

“We're fascinated by the words--but where we meet is in the silence behind them.” 
― Ram Dass

He smiled when he walked into the room, and shook my hand, warmly.  He asks how I am and I say, "Pretty good," with a little shrug in my shoulders because I know we'll be digging into this more as the doctor's appointment goes on.  Then I ask Dr. Panwalkar, "And how are YOU?"  And he hesitates a bit, and says, Oh, I'm alright."  I nod. Quietly.   I often wonder what appointment he has just come from, and who he might be going to next.  Is he losing a patient?  Did he just newly diagnose someone?  Both?  

I like that he is real, and lets me into that space of the "hard," without being able to, nor perhaps, wanting to, share in any detail.  But there is no front of "everything is great", when sometimes, its just not.

So, we're quiet a few moments, as he goes to sit down, and I begin rehearsing the questions I have for him, as I begin answering the ones he has for me.

And yet, because he is so willing to be in the moment with me, it isn't long and my stories cause his hearty laugh to permeate the air.  

He checks me over thoroughly and notices the tightness under my right arm.  He also mentions how he can see the difference in size between my larger right arm versus my normal- sized left arm.

I remember to ask about my tumor markers, and he says they have risen again, just a bit.  Then he shows me the history of them, and I can clearly see they slowly seem to go up, and then come down and then climb yet again.  He shrugs, saying so many things can affect the numbers, its the pattern we'll continue to watch.

Based on my lack of any unusual symptoms, other than a dry cough, he feels confident in continuing on with 2 more months of Arimidex, and Herceptin infusions every 3 weeks.

He sits back in his chair a bit, and says, he is anxiously waiting for some new vaccine trials to come to Sanford.  And that there is a new Melanoma drug, that shows good promise, and he hopes there may be something similar to that for Breast Cancer in the works.

He concludes with a story of hope.  A patient of his, very similar to me with Brain Mets, who is doing remarkably well.  

What I really hear him saying, is hang on to hope, as my brain scan looms in January.

I think of the Ram Dass quote,

“We're fascinated by the words--but where we meet is in the silence behind them.” 

Dr. P stands to usher us out of the office.  We're quiet as we walk, in unison, to the infusion center.  I'm feeling my step lighten, my shoulders rise, my back straighten with each step.  I'm lighter somehow, through the silence behind the words.  He wishes me a good holiday season and heads off into the infusion center maze.  

*****************************************

So many have inquired about both my mom and I.

My mom has not fared so well.

While in the hospital over Thanksgiving,  being transferred from her bed to a cart to a procedure table, her back was banged in the process and she felt a shooting pain.

Steadily, the pain has increased.

Dr. Teigen's staff was extremely accommodating.  

Mom will have an MRI of her back tomorrow at 715 am and see Dr. Teigen for the results at 8 am.

Vertibroplasty #4 may be in the works.  

And this is where I am for all that ask … somewhere between the hockey rink, the hospital and hope, always hope, that~

~All shall be well~