Life is full of surprises. Some good, some bad. Some you just don’t know what to do with. I went for an MRI for my hamstring tear from last year. The sucker just didn’t seem to want to heal. I was expecting to find out that there was massive amounts of scar tissue or that it just had never healed. I braced myself for hearing that my season was over. Or, worse yet, that there was nothing wrong and I was imagining the pain and totally living in the world of the psychosomatic. What I wasn’t expecting was the “T” word. And then there it was “you have a tumor in your femur.” WHAT? Now, some docs are fantastic but this guy’s bedside manner left something to be desired. From the comment about the growth in my femur he went in to a pile of five dollar words which meant quite literally nothing to me and then said “it’s probably fine. We will just scan it again in a few months. Come back in 3-6 months.” before wandering out of his room to the next patient.
Left to my own devices, I did what any reasonable person would do: I sent my copy of the MRI results to my own doctor and then proceeded to look up the tumour that I have in my leg on the internet. I know, I know… “Doctor Google” is always a bad choice, but I made sure to stick to websites like Cedar-Sinai and John Hopkins so I wouldn’t end up with some random information that has you convinced you’re dying next week. The good news– probably not cancer (**huge sigh of relief**). The bad news- it brings with it the risk of compromising bone strength and the possibilities of bone grafts. Great. As a dancer, runner and triathlete this is still not good. This benign version and it’s cousin the big “C” can also look pretty similar at this stage so while they’re like 95% sure it’s just a “T” and not a “C”…I have to wait 3 months for the next scan.
No matter what, even though it’s likely not cancer, there is something about having a tumor in the part of your body that you rely most on that really throws you for a loop. Having to answer the question of “What did the MRI say?” with “I have a tumor.” just doesn’t get easier. I mean, I have only had a few days to process and I have yet to meet with my own family doctor, so I imagine that at some point I will feel differently. Right now, though, I just feel….weird. There’s really no way to explain what it’s like to have this tumor and so it feels very isolating. The Gazelle and I decided to name it. We have called it “Gary” because “Gary moves slow like a snail and seems rather dull.” and also because of Gary on The Santa Clarita Diet who, if you have seen the show, ends up being a bit of an unwelcome guest that you hide away and just don’t know what to do with but he’s yours so you’re stuck.
For now I will run and dance and hope that the tumour that is half the size of the diameter of my femur doesn’t cause my leg to break. I will wait and see what the next set of scans say. I will wait to see if my whole identity gets turned on its head.
the unexpected triathlete 