Page 11 of Never Stop
I was on a nerve medication because radiation burned some of the nerves where the tumor had been that sent pain to my tricep, and I was also still on a narcotic since I just had surgery. But I was done having any future tumors—at least that was what I was hoping for. Desmoid tumors were known to grow back, but I didn’t want to think about that. At any given moment I could have a regrowth—it just wasn’t going to happen to me; I’d had radiation.
I was living in denial.
Easton’s hand laced with mine as he drove us to my appointment. Since my first biopsy, he’d done this: held my hand without saying anything to try and calm me because I didn’t need for him to tell me everything was going to be okay. I knew only from his touch that no matter what happened—no matter what was said—everythingwouldbe okay. He would be there to pick me up when I fell.
I’d finally found someone to take care of me.
Easton pulled into the parking lot ten minutes before my appointment. I didn’t want to go inside. I was more nervous about this appointment than my biopsy because this one would tell mewhyI’d developed the tumor to begin with. Finding out the underlining reasons was terrifying. What if the counselor told me that I could get another one in a different part of my body? What if the counselor told me that I would have to be checked yearly for the rest of my life? What if the counselor told me that my kids would have these tumors too?What if the counselor told me I wasn’t done?
“Ready?” Easton asked bringing me out of my thoughts.
No.But I couldn’t wait any longer. The clock was ticking. I gave him a tight smile then sighed. “Yeah.”
He kissed the back of my hand before releasing it. “I love you.”
That was exactly what I needed to hear. “I love you, too.” I smiled tightly trying to hide my fear.
Denial.
I looked around the small office, my knee bobbing up and down nervously as Mrs. Hunter, or Megan as she’d told us to call her, closed the door. I was used to being in exam rooms, but this was an office as if we were having a meeting. I was expecting to be poked and prodded some more, my blood drawn and my scars looked at, but she walked over and sat at her desk.
“So… how are you feeling?” Megan questioned.
I was tired of that question. I gave the same answer no matter how I was feeling. It was always easier for me to answer the same way even if I was feeling different because I didn’t want to burden anyone with the truth, not even Easton. I took a deep breath before answering.
“Fine.”
“How much research have you done about desmoids?”
Out of habit or maybe nerves, I looked toward Easton and then back toward Megan. “Not a whole lot.”
“That’s good. I would rather give you the facts instead of you reading something that wasn’t true.”
Easton reached over and stilled my knee. I hadn’t realized it, but my leg was still bobbing, and my hands were wringing in my lap. After my leg had calmed, he laced his fingers with mine and held it, comforting me.
Megan leaned forward and crossed her arms on her desk. “I assume Dr. Bloom told you that desmoids are known to grow back, and that’s why you went through radiation?”
I nodded.
“Did he mention anything else?”
I shook my head. “No, not really.”
She handed Easton and me a packet of papers, and I stared at it as if I was reading Spanish. I had no idea what I was reading. There were words on there I couldn’t pronounce to save my life.
“As you may or may not know, desmoid tumors are rare. There’s not a lot of research yet, but what we do know is that they are more common in women in their early thirties, are mostly found in their arms, legs and abdomens and—”
“But mine was by my lung.”
“Right. These fibrous tumors are still in the early stages of research, and we aren’t sure how the mutation is formed. What we do know is that a percentage of people with desmoid tumors are linked to having what’s known as familial adenomatous polyposis.”
I stared at her as if shewerespeaking Spanish.
She smiled. “We call it FAP.”
“What is FAP?” Easton asked.
“The short answer? Colon cancer.”
