Sooner or Later

So as requested, I returned to the Emergency Room at Toronto General Hospital the next day. The ER was obviously busier during the day but eventually, I was taken to an internal waiting room designed I suppose for patients that didn’t necessarily require a bed.  There were perhaps a dozen chairs all separated by plexiglass shields and a TV in the corner quietly playing CP24.  Clearly, this was a case when I should have brought my earbuds!

After several hours and a CT scan, an ER doctor called me into the hallway to tell me what they had found. “I’m sorry” he started without looking me in the eye, “besides a tumour in your lung, and at least one in a lymph node, the scans show several smaller lesions in your brain”.  Inside my head I’m thinking, wow that escalated quickly.

He quickly moves on. “I’m referring you to the Lung RAMP program [Lung Cancer Rapid Assessment and Management Program] at Princess Margaret Hospital. If you don’t hear from someone about an appointment within a week, call this number.” He then hands me a pink copy of his mostly illegible notes with a phone number, and that was pretty much that.  As he walked away I couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked.

As I’m trying to process all this, I find my way out of the ER and walk the subway on the opposite corner of the large hospital complex. Even for someone who really doesn’t know much about cancer, the fact that it had spread to various parts of my body, certainly didn’t sound good. On the other hand, I had no idea about treatments or survival rates, and I had no obvious symptoms of anything being awry. I guess I just decided to adopt a neutral mindset until I knew more.

I have three younger sisters, Anne, Lynn, and Sue. Each of them has had or is still dealing with their own cancer experiences with members of their respective families. In addition, Sue is a Registered Nurse working in a hospital and while she doesn’t deal with cancer patients per se, she is certainly helpful when it comes to questions to ask the various doctors. I shared what news I had at this point with each of them. At some point, I also told my 88 and 89-year-old parents who still live in the family home, 160km east of Toronto, built by my great-great-grandfather circa 1869. As I expected, they were all extremely supportive.

I did receive a telephone appointment for the PMH RAMP clinic for the following week. I kept in touch with my sisters too however they were increasingly concerned that what might have been originally attributed to shock was something more serious. I was finding it harder to finish thoughts and sentences (yes more than usual lol) – what is often referred to as “brain fog,” and by December 24th they decided an “intervention” was required. Sue let me know she was coming to pick me (and the dogs) up and dropping me at the Toronto Western Hospital (also part of the University Hospital Network or UHN) and taking the dogs back to her place. I didn’t argue as I knew things weren’t right and did my best to pull together all the things she would need for the dogs.

I was able to check myself into the ER, and after the usual wait was assigned a cubicle and all the checks from nurses and doctors. More scans revealed edema around the brain masses that were the most likely cause of the brain fog and so prescribed a strong steroid to control that problem. By this time my other sister Anne had somehow managed to talk her way into the ER to hang out with me and was relieved when they decided to admit me in the early morning hours of Christmas Day. I vaguely recall being moved to a single room with an anteroom, a nurse wearing all the PPE you could wear taking a COVID 19 swab, then drifting off to sleep.