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Latest Voices
Lady in Waiting
I’ve been a “lady in waiting” more than once. A traditional “lady in waiting” attends to royalty—which sounds like a pretty cushy job. But when you’re a lady waiting for the results of a biopsy, the task is a royal pain. Waiting for the phone to ring when you’re younger often means getting asked out on a date. Then years later, you find yourself waiting for a call from your doctor, to set a follow-up appointment to discuss your biopsy results. As anyone can attest, this waiting period can be a true test of resilience.
An Imagination Run Wild
I have had four breast biopsies. The procedures did not hurt since they occurred when I was in a twilight sleep. What caused me pain, however, was waiting for the results.
My imagination would run wild. Would I need a single or double mastectomy? Would I have implants or just live my life with a flat chest as I did through most of my teenage years? Would the cancer be stage 4 and have spread to lymph nodes? How much time would I have left to create memories with my beloved children?
Ruminations on a Ruined Face
Right now, it’s dark red. With fifteen days of radiation to go, it seems it will get a whole lot darker.
At least they warned me about the sunburn. They did not warn me about the swelling and the mouth sores. And the red crusted-shut eyes and floaters. “It’s different for everyone,” they say.
Journal Entry 16-Jul-25
Today a patient died. Very usual for me as a palliative care doctor. She was seventy years old and very sick for a while. This really shouldn’t have surprised anyone, but her family still wept. I was sitting inside the hospice when the funeral home came to get the body. Her relatives watched outside as they loaded her into the vehicle. Then I heard wailing, loud sobs going on outside: a public display of grief that I had not expected.
August More Voices: Awaiting a Diagnosis
Dear readers,
It was autumn, and I had just started medical school at the advanced age of thirty. I’d always been in good health, so when my symptoms first appeared, I was sure they couldn’t be anything serious.
The first hint of a problem came in the middle of a seminar, when I had to leave the room to urinate. It struck me as a little odd. The next time the seminar met, I used the bathroom beforehand, just to be on the safe side, but it didn’t help. Halfway through I had to excuse myself again.
Hunh.
Conspiracy of Silence
When I was little, my mother would tell me that not everything I am thinking should be said. Years later, in November 2023, it became apparent to me that my father was dying, and I said so. I said it to everybody: my parents, my brothers, my extended family. I told them that David, my daddy, is dying. People watched me in shock. Nobody believed me.
The First Time I Ran Away
The day began like any other in my OB-GYN rotation. A few hours before rounds, I approached a patient who’d just returned from an emergency Cesarean section. I began asking routine questions, until my senior gently nudged me. “Be careful what you ask,” he whispered. “She doesn’t know her baby died in utero.”
Moving On
Denny was one year ahead of me in grad school and a close friend. We shared so many plans about our future! I knew he was gay, but his bisexual partner was the only other person in on that secret. This was the 1960s, and coming out wasn’t an option back then if you planned to be employed in certain professions.
Keeping Score
Has it all come down to this, after a lifetime of quantifying success against arbitrary goals? To achieve, whatever the cost? A competitor by nature, I prefer victory to failure.
Retired and sixty-six, I see my oncologist every month. Just when I’d hoped to be free of success by someone else’s calculation, I’m checking for lab results in my electronic medical record.
Yesterday, I learn that my numbers are climbing up.
