Russ's Ravings: A Tale Of (At Least) Two Tumors

Editor's note: The following is Patch Field Editor Russ Crespolini's, hopefully, weekly column. It is reflective of his opinion alone.

"Your blood pressure is 138 over 96, did you take your medicine today?" asked the nurse as I waited for the consultation on my MRI results.

What a profoundly stupid question, I thought as I worked the tingling out of my fingers and she released the cuff. Maybe my blood pressure is spiking because I have been feeling lousy for months and my doctor is here to discuss possible brain surgery to remove a brain tumor uncovered by an MRI. Maybe that could be the reason my heart is hammering like a trapped bird in my ribcage.

"Maybe you just aggravate me," I said.

I regretted it immediately. It isn't her fault. She is doing her job and doesn't know exactly what I am here to deal with. Still, her question annoyed me and I let it show. I tried to brighten up my answers as she concluded going over the same list of medications I had already verified multiple times. I think she left not thinking I wasn’t a total jerk.

One of the hardest things about dealing with illness is the uncertainty. Sometimes, when it seems like you have reached the point where you get answers, the bar gets raised just out of your grasp.

For me, after months of symptoms lead me to a slew of tests and finally this consultation where we discussed the tumor in my brain. When the doctor came in I was so nervous I couldn't even look at her. When she settled into her seat in front of her computer she verified that my scans showed what all the other tests showed. That I had a tumor in my brain, attached to my pituitary gland. I was ready for this. I knew how it worked. Brain surgery would be the next step and then hopefully I could move on with my recovery and my life.

But then she said something I wasn't prepared for. She said the tumor might not be the cause of my problems. That was when I looked at her for the first time.

Because of the size and the position of the tumor, it might not be causing the issues I have been experiencing and the test results we had been seeing. The doctor said, in fact, that the brain tumor could be an incidental finding.

I have to admit, I was oddly insulted. The poor little guy was probably doing his best. How dare he be relegated to "incidental."

"So what we need to do is more testing to determine if there is a second growth that could be causing the issues," the doctor said.

Oh, awesome.

Apparently, fun medical fact, rarely an ACTH-secreting tumor develops in an organ that normally does not produce ACTH will begin to secrete this hormone in excess. These are most likely benign (thankfully) but can also be cancerous. For our purposes, the doctor believes this happy little second tumor is hanging around in my lungs.

I didn't know quite how to process this news. I found myself focused in on the floor, at the spot where the cabinet met the tile. I was looking directly at the corner as my mind wondered if the flooring was original to the building because the seam looked so good. It was something I could tell my mind so I didn't start yelling about the fact that it looks like I HAVE TWO TUMORS TO DEAL WITH.

So I was ready, this would mean two surgeries. And if that is what it takes to get better than that is what it takes, I looked up at the doctor ready to get the ball rolling. She looked up from her notes and said I should repeat all my tests.

I blinked. This was not what I expected. I thought we were heading towards a solution.

"We don't want to rush into anything," she said. "This is brain surgery. This is lung surgery. We want to make absolutely sure. And when the time comes, we will set you up with a really good surgeon."

I snorted.

"Well good, I was hoping we would avoid the really crappy ones," I said.

I am not funny when I am scared, I've discovered.

I vaguely remember her saying something about the excellent surgeons she works with in the area and of course, the ones in New York. That snapped me out of my worried haze. New York surgeons meant a big deal.

So the plan was for me to repeat all of my initial tests (which include urinating in a container that looks like the gas can for my lawnmower that I have to keep in my refrigerator). From there, I am going to get a catheterization (where I am told they go into my groin and I think I would rather just have the brain surgery) so they can stimulate the pituitary gland to check functionality. And then we MRI the chest.

After all that is completed, we see where we are at and whether I need one or more surgical interventions.

The feeling of frustration at having this dragged out is palpable. I know this is the smartest way to handle this. I know this is the best possible path for me to get well. But the waiting period for answers is excruciating.

Knowing there is something, or more than one something, growing inside me that shouldn't be there posing an unspecified amount of danger is something I can't wrap my mind around. And while I have received an unbelievable amount of support from people who read this column and beyond, it is also hard when people ask me questions I don't know the answer to. Or ask if I have gotten a second opinion on something.

No, I haven't. Because I am still in the process of getting the first opinion. All I know is right now I am not much closer to having a solution than I am when I first started.

Well, that isn't completely true. I know a few more things. I know that the support I have received has allowed me to stay calm and focus on finding the solutions as fast as possible.

And I also know that this is the reality for so many people. People who have so much worse to deal with than me and who have to subject themselves to tests of all varieties at all times. This is where they exist. And I wonder if this is where I will exist now. There aren't always easy solutions. And there aren't always fast answers.

So we learn patience.

And we remember all of those in our corner we have to lean on when we get ahead of ourselves.

Russ Crespolini is a Field Editor for Patch Media, adjunct professor and college newspaper advisor. His columns have won awards from the National Newspaper Association and the New Jersey Press Association.

He writes them in hopes of connecting with readers and engaging with them. And because it is cheaper than therapy. He can be reached at russ.crespolini@patch.com