I Second That Opinion

The wheels are in motion. MD Anderson received my slides, records and CDs today. My consultant reviewed the files with me and then reassured me that they would be able to make my March 23 deadline. As a matter of fact, when she cut the conversation short, she explained, "I want to get your slides to pathology so that they can start work TODAY." She encouraged me to call as often as I want to check status. Perhaps this creative, can-do attitude is just one of the reasons that MDA is ranked as the number two cancer center in the country.

Now I'm scheduled for a long overdue NAP.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

On Tuesday, I spoke with the MD Anderson Cancer Center and discovered that I had three options for receiving a second opinion: in person, by phone or by mail. I would have to wait more than a month for face-to-face time or three weeks for a phone consultation, but I could have my mail order treatment plan in seven to ten business days.

This was, of course, seven to ten business days after they received my records. I called the City of Hope medical records department and learned that it could take up to ten days to process my request. That meant the entire second opinion process could take nearly a month.

But I don't have a month. I have less than two weeks with the clock ticking before I'm scheduled to start Hyper CVAD at the City of Hope on March 26. If I wanted to get a second opinion treatment plan before that date, I knew I would have to do some major "bird dogging."

This morning I received a serendipitous call from a friend who once managed the medical records department at Cedar Sinai. She encouraged me to walk in and request the records in person. (If that failed, she had a direct connection to the CEO at CofH, but I had a feeling I didn't need to bother the "big guy" with this problem.)

I took her advice and headed straight to the City of Hope. My assigned representative in the records department wasn't available, but Lisa jumped right in and wrangled my records. One down, two to go. I still needed my pathology slides and a CD of my MRI, PET scan and CT scan. Lisa called to let radiology know that I'd be coming over for my records, and they had the CD waiting for me when I arrived ten minutes later. I found the same fast and friendly service in the pathology records department.

I was in and out of the hospital in just under an hour with my complete cancer medical history in hand.

The experience reminded me of my first corporate job in marketing for AT&T. When a demanding client requested (or should I say insisted upon) an expedite from three weeks to three days, I would hand carry the order to ten different departments involved in the process. Then I 'd put on my tightest skirt and sweetest smile and drive to the central office, where I'd sweet talk a supervisor into moving my order to the top of the list. I'd usually follow up with a bottle of Chivas Regal as a thank you. (Hey, you do what you have to do for a client.)

Today, I managed to shave nine and a half days off the front end process at the City of Hope. The records will be on the desk of the MD Anderson consultant by 9 am tomorrow morning.

And I didn't even have to spring for a bottle of Chivas.

Hyper CVAD, Hyperactivity

I was beginning to think that the "hyper" in the recommended protocol - Hyper CVAD - stood for the hyperactive, frenetic activity that patients engage in BEFORE the procedure. I felt strong and alive as I skipped from the consultation room to the parking lot at the City of Hope. After lunch in Old Pasadena and an impromptu shopping trip for prom dresses for Cindy, I dove into a marathon six-hour researching spree.

Today, I continued in hyper mode - getting quotes to repaint the upstairs bedrooms, living room and dining room; going in to the office to tie up a thousand loose ends; investigating the quickest way to get a second opinion from the esteemed MD Anderson Cancer Center. The list goes on.

But halfway through the day, I hit a wall. For the first time since visiting my general practitioner in early January, a feeling of overwhelming sadness and fear swept over me. Sadness for the things I'll miss in the next few months, especially related to Cindy. Fear of what lies ahead. Sadness for the brave "cellmates" who have lost their lives in spite of a valiant fight. Fear that I'll be one of them.

When I'm feeling strong emotions, I always think of the words of Gudrun, a dean of students at an emotional growth boarding school that Cindy attended. "Your feelings are your feelings." (Note to those who don't know Gudrun: You must say this statement veeth a heavy German accent.) Feelings are neither good nor bad, justified nor unjustified, rational nor irrational.

With this in mind, I didn't try to suppress my feelings. I let them and the tears come to the surface. Then I remembered the follow-up question to Gudrun's statement. "What are you going to choose to do with your feelings?" I could choose to stuff them deep down and pretend they don't exist. I could isolate and withdraw from those who want to support me. I could turn the sadness and fear to anger and take it out on others.

My choice? To talk, to share and accept the support and comfort of others. Thank you all for your unwavering love and support.