18. My Bestie and My Doctor
The first person I called when I got the news about a high alk phos was my bestie, Donna Eaton, a former phlebotomist who starts every medical sentence with, “That’s not my field, but …….” and then always manages to ‘talk the talk’ on any part of the anatomy. Her first question that day was, “The alkaline phosphatase, how high are we talking?”
My first answer was a ramble of non-specifics, “Not sure exactly, but the one I had for my 2019 annual physical showed an alk phos that was within normal range, I didn’t have a physical last year because of Covid, and now it’s over 600, I think.”
She immediately started a game of Trivial Pursuit – The Anatomy Edition with questions about blood counts, and enzymes, and functions of this and that — none of which I could answer.
“You need to get better at asking questions and getting information,” she suggested calmly, but pointedly.
“Yeah, I know. I suck at absorbing all that medical crap. But, I’ll have the super-de-duper results in a few days so that should help.”
“What super-de-duper blood test?”
“I don’t know what it’s called, but the test focuses on the alk phos. I guess it looks for three areas of concern—”
She cut me off. “Liver, bones, and intestines.”
“Yeup.”
And just like that, Donna had three pieces of pie for her Trivial Pursuit game piece — while mine was still empty and sitting shell-shocked in a corner.
A little background on my bestie. Donna shoots straight from the hip, offers immediate triage to the truth wounds she inflicts, slaps on a dressing to stem the flow of vital fluids, then kisses the boo-boo. Her frankness is oddly refreshing, even if you’re the one bleeding out from one of her direct hits — like this one.
“Sheryll, with your history, the concern is metastatic breast cancer that’s spread to the bone or liver, maybe somewhere else.”
“And?”
“This is gonna suck, but I love you.”
She didn’t need to ask her next question because she knows I avoid medical-Googling like the plague – but she asked anyway, “Are you gonna research this?”
“Nope.”
“I am. Gotta go.”
A few days later, I called Donna with the super-de-duper alk phos blood work results, “82% bone, 18% liver, 0% intestines.”
This time, she didn’t need a whole bunch of specifics, and she only had one question, “You’re scheduled for a bone scan, right?”
“Yeup.” This time I followed up with a big-ass question. “The 82% bone reading, that’s pretty conclusive about what’s happening?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“This is gonna be bad, but I love you.”
The other person who knew how bad a situation I was in was my PCP, the man I now refer to as, Dr. Wonderful. *He broached the possibility of metastatic breast cancer when he told me about the elevated alk phos. *He made sure I didn’t leave his office without getting the super-de-duper blood test. *He scheduled an immediate bone scan – a procedure I REALLY did not want to have because of a big-ass problem I have with claustrophobia. *He stressed the necessity of the procedure and talked me off the ledge – and I popped the necessary Xanax and breathed through the experience – barely, at times. *He delivered the news – a death sentence, really – with clarity and sympathy.
Then he gave me his personal cell phone number.
“In case you need to talk, day or night.”
I haven’t called him, but he has called me — often enough for me to know that he cares about me, not only as his patient, but as a person. I am very fortunate to have Dr. Wonderful handling my care.
There are many others who have jumped in and offered knowledge, support, and love, and I appreciate them all in so many ways. But, at the end of the day, my bestie and my doctor are the main characters in this chapter of my life.
As for the day-to-day with Donna, things have changed dramatically.
Texts from September:
Me: Reading anything interesting?
Donna: OMG you are a twisted bitch. I didn’t think you could get darker than the stuff that happens in Her Scream, but Stay Safe is really disturbing. I need to go watch Mary Poppins or something wholesome so my brain can de-stress for the night.
Texts from October:
Donna: Just finished Ashore on Stony Beach. Send the next one.
Me: I need to write it.
Donna: Then write it, bitch. You really left me hanging.
Texts from November:
Donna: Almost texted you in the middle of the night to tell you how much I’m loving Adrift on Stony Beach — and then I remembered you might be asleep — you never used to sleep. This cancer shit really sucks.
Me: Yeup.
Texts from December:
Donna: What are you doing?
Me: Reading my DNR forms for hospice. What are you doing?
Donna: Writing your eulogy.
Me: How the hell did this shit happen?
Donna: Haven’t a clue, but I love you.
Me: Good to know. By the way, is the eulogy funny?
Donna: What do you think?
Me: That I should have asked someone else to write it.
Donna: Too late.
Me: For a lot of things.
Donna: I know, but I love you.
I know Donna loves me, and I know how hard all of this is for my bestie. To quote her from when this nightmare began. “This is gonna suck.”