Discovery of Tumor
By the end of seventh grade, Jr. High no longer seemed an immense edifice, and my confidence, as well as my acquaintances, grew. Each day, before or after lunch, depending on one's lunch schedule, we would assemble in our respective "homerooms"; here we could talk among ourselves if we did not become noisome or in any way obnoxious. I made two acquaintances in the room, and between the three of us, idle chatter abounded. One day I remember above all others. I was involved in conversation with the two girls when I looked down at my stomach and noticed that it was definitely lop-sided in appearance. I called their attention to it so that they also could share in the humor of my distortion. We all laughed in simultaneous bursts of wonder at the spectacle, then moved on casually to other things. I figured that my stomach was bloated from gas. "No big deal." However, for the next several weeks, I maintained a vigil on my stomach, and to my perplexity, the odd "lop-sidedness" persisted. Eventually I decided that I should divulge the discovery to my parents.
It was summer vacation, and school would be in the past for three beautiful months. The annual family trip was only weeks away, and I could barely wait. When Mom said that I would have to go to the doctor, I felt an eerie certainty that something was drastically amiss, and therefore requested that we first go on our trip to Colorado; I knew that if my sensation was correct, I would never be able to see the mountains…at least not that year. The trip, I felt, could not be postponed.
A brief time later, I found myself in Colorado. The unchanged beauty was without flaw, yet to my dismay, I was unable to fully enjoy it. Even small trails, which I had previously made with ease, I could not manage without an overwhelming urge to vomit. The thought of food was not at all welcome nor appealing, and my energy waned; I felt as if I had another mild case of stomach flu. My sister who, along with her family, had accompanied us on the trip, confided to Mom, "Laurie looks so fragile…" My weight loss was more apparent to her since she saw me on fewer occasions. My appetite had slowly declined, and I had complained of stomach discomfort, prompting me to squeeze a pillow through the night. Occasional bouts of stomach flu would evoke such violent stabs of wrenching pain that I could only stand with my stomach tucked in, my back bent at a 45 degree angle to my legs. We never suspected that anything was wrong until I discovered the unusual appearance of my stomach. Even those with keen eyesight can be blind when gazing into a mirror, especially when the changes seen therein have occurred gradually, over a period of time. Moreover, I was always a rather finicky eater and found mealtime to be one of those obligatory necessities of survival. I was also quite prone toward nervousness, which wreaked havoc on my stomach as well; certainly my pangs were not abnormal, as I'd experienced them as long as I could recall, and they inevitably would render me without an appetite. A lack of interest with regard to food on my part was nothing new; for years Mom urged me to finish my food or eat my vegetables, coupled with a lesson on nutrition or a threat that would not allow me to partake in later treats, such as cookies or ice cream. Feeling that I was healthy enough, I cared little about "sound nutrition" and "balanced diet" yet Mom's "cookie clout" sometimes carried a fair impact, (depending on the vegetables I was to choke down, as well as the type of dessert which taunted my eyes and tongue). No threat however magnificent was sufficient for me to make beets or spinach disappear; that was asking too much, and I gladly relinquished my treat. My appetite posed little cause for worry and, as before, the symptoms of stomach flu soon were but a memory. The lump remained, however, glaring suspiciously from beneath knit shirts; the appointment with the doctor could no longer be delayed.
It was a sunny day when we pulled into the doctors parking lot, and I was in good spirits despite the natural qualms one encounters upon venturing into the typically noiseless waiting room. I was characteristically happy, and although I knew not what news my physical exam would unveil, I felt no need to punish the doctor for doing his job; he deserved a smile too.
Dr. Murrell was a man of few words, who wielded an aristocractic air with the unimposing quality of a true gentleman. He appeared to own a sense of inate calm which allowed him to divulge even the worst verdicts with unruffled dignity and composure; he transmitted ease to the waiting patients and relatives as if through a sort of osmosis and, I'm sure, avoided many hysterical outbursts as a result.
As he methodically inspected my stomach region I found it extremely difficult to refrain from laughter. Ticklish and quite unused to being touched, his various pokes evoked embarrassing jolts of muscle spasms as I tried, without success, to squelch my chuckles. When he had finished, he announced that he wished the opinion of his associate doctor and departed for several minutes. Arriving once again with Dr. Errico, who then took a turn applying pressure to various points on my sensitive stomach region, they asked whether any specific areas brought about pain when touched. I replied that I had experienced none, and they nodded in silence.
As the two doctors prepared to leave the room to privately confer the meaning of my symptoms, Dr. Errico extended his arm to place a fatherly pat on my shoulder. As he did so, I felt my spine turn to ice in an unexplainable sensation of pure dread; it was as if his gesture foretold doom and I recalled the persisting thought which had echoed in my mind since the moment I discovered the lump. The news was not going to be good; I knew it now.
Dr. Murrell returned to the room alone, seated himself before the desk, then turned to face us. He was unable, as yet, to draw any conclusions, but desired me to check into the hospital for tests as soon as possible, and the preparations were made. I can no longer remember how I felt when I departed that day from the office drear to the bright flood of sunlight; I cried no tear, and spoke no words of resentment or anger, for those I would have recalled. I knew only that I had to discover the truth about that mystery which lurked behind a mask of skin.
The hospital, I found, was no place to be unless one was horribly ill. I was not quite certain of my status in that regard, but knew immediately that my health declined the instant in which I donned the hospital gown. It was depressing; I blended so well with the room that I thought I would disappear in the ethereal whiteness. To my later dismay, however, I was easily distinguished and forced to submit to various manifestations of barbarism; never having stayed in a hospital, I had no idea of the rigorous torture treatments which were actually only routine and lawful tests. I write the above with an air of sarcastic jest, for obviously not all of the tests incurred techniques of bludgeoning, prodding, or other undue discomforts for the patient; an X-ray, for example, has never once evoked the slightest twinge of pain. There are tests however, which disrupt one's level of comfort substantially, and unfortunately, those which can prove fatal. For my part these latter tests always spurred the reflective statement, "There must be a better way!" coupled with the hope that one day there would be a technological breakthrough in the field of medicine, wherein one merely stepped into a box and, after manipulating several buttons, he could step out again and the doctor would know immediately whether anything was wrong with his patient. (My mind later devised a second box into which one would step, and after several minutes, step out completely cured of all the ailments discovered by Box #1. This transformation occurred without pain, of course. Although I could endure pain, usually without protest, I was always eager to avoid it whenever possible.) To my knowledge, no such boxes have ever been invented; but it would be a grand idea…or maybe only a wistful thought.