Julie Statkus and her daughter Marnie, Christmas 2014 A misdiagnosis of lung cancer left Julie Statkus counting her blessings.
“I THINK you have lung cancer,” a GP told me two weeks before Christmas. “Here’s a referral for an x-ray.”
Wham! This was the start of my short and unexpected journey. What a strange Christmas I had! Such big plans, all thrown into chaos.
I had been feeling tired. I didn't have the energy to get the house ready for all my family staying - around eight little tackers and seven adults. I had been looking forward to it all year too.
On the day the first of my guests, my great niece, was to arrive for a special holiday, I had an incident which prompted me to make an urgent appointment with the local clinic. My GP wasn't available and another one agreed to see me and immediately referred me for the x-ray.
My daughter picked up my little great niece from the airport, took her to her home in Melbourne to make hula hoops then brought her to my place. The following day we set off for the first of several tests and scans.
A chest x-ray indicated something was not quite right in lungs and heart and a further scan indicated primary cancer of the lung. A lung specialist then referred me for more tests and scans. There were conflicting reports from these scans which indicated some doubt in the diagnosis. The radiologist wrote that an infection appeared to be a more likely cause.
The euphoria was short-lived. On my return visit to the lung specialist the next week, he dismissed the radiologist’s report and recommended urgent surgery to be sure. He proposed to remove a third of my lung the following week.
It was like being on a roller coaster as I hurtled from optimism to a sense of hopelessness and back to optimism again. I felt vulnerable and uncertain.
We still had our family Christmas. They all booked accommodation near my home and I called in and had some wonderful time with them. They became even more special to me. When I was tired I came home to my little haven and rested.
While I didn't experience long nights of crying and feeling miserable, moments sneaked up on me a few times. I was having brunch with my sister, her daughter and three children in an Inverloch cafe. We were enjoying our meal and chatting away amicably and I suddenly thought this might be my last Christmas and how much I loved them. A few tears escaped and ran down my cheek.
I was okay about having surgery if needed but not enthusiastic about having a third of my lung removed – which would involve hospitalisation, intensive care and rehab – if there was some doubt about the diagnosis. I decided to seek another opinion. Armed with the scans and reports, I consulted an oncologist at the leading cancer hospital in Melbourne. Looking atthe scans, he told me the mass had dispersed and what was there looked more like inflammation than cancer.
I remember my dear friend driving me home after that appointment. We took a circuitous route via arguably the best op shop in Melbourne when a driver turned straight in front of us, causing my friend to brake suddenly. “Selfish pig,” I said, then added “It’s great to get back to getting upset about those tiny annoyances again”. We laughed uproariously for about five minutes. Actually, I think we were hysterical.
A month down the track, I can see the journey wasn't all bad. I appreciate the many insights. I learned that it is important to take personal responsibility for interpreting information and making decisions. And to recognise my limitations and call on help when needed.
I am fortunate to live in a country where I have access to health services and medical professionals. I will always appreciate the speedy response to my situation from all the medical professionals involved.
Having a small supportive team was crucial to my sense of well being. A delegation from this tight little support group of friends and family went with me to all appointments, took notes, took me to parks, laughed and cried with me and even attempted to interpret x-rays. I could not have managed without them. Well, I could have, but it would have been horrible.
I also discovered how much goodwill and support I receive from my friends. The generous and thoughtful offers I received were overwhelming. It reinforced to me that I have found my tribe. I cannot imagine life without them.
Whenever I rested I visualised. With each breath in, I would imagine a group of soldiers (unarmed and friendly) marching into my right lung, searching for intruders (unnamed) and showing them off the property. This technique also helped me get to sleep. One of my dear friends suggested that because of the good job my soldiers did I should give them some time off. I said they do not leave until the job is done, then I will throw them a party.
During the roller coaster ride, my sister and I went into a local clothing shop and I saw a beautiful frock. “Buy it,” she said. “What’s the point if I only have three months to live,” I replied dramatically. Later I thought that was all the more reason to buy the frock.
A most wonderful discovery is that sunsets are now more beautiful, the fireworks more vibrant and my love for my family more intense, as is my deep respect and appreciation of my friends.
I've changed. I am not totally out of the woods but it doesn't matter. There is some work to be done. None of us knows when and what will happen to us in the future. All we have is today. Making the most of every moment is more important than ever. I am calmer and probably happier than I have ever been.
I still get tired but not as much as before my enforced rest. My beloved daughter assures me it is just because I am old.
COMMENTS
February 25, 2015
Many thanks to Julie Statkus for a brave recounting of a potential trauma. Wonderful advice to seek a second opinion if you do not like to first one.
Felicia Di Stefano, Glen Forbes
Wham! This was the start of my short and unexpected journey. What a strange Christmas I had! Such big plans, all thrown into chaos.
I had been feeling tired. I didn't have the energy to get the house ready for all my family staying - around eight little tackers and seven adults. I had been looking forward to it all year too.
On the day the first of my guests, my great niece, was to arrive for a special holiday, I had an incident which prompted me to make an urgent appointment with the local clinic. My GP wasn't available and another one agreed to see me and immediately referred me for the x-ray.
My daughter picked up my little great niece from the airport, took her to her home in Melbourne to make hula hoops then brought her to my place. The following day we set off for the first of several tests and scans.
A chest x-ray indicated something was not quite right in lungs and heart and a further scan indicated primary cancer of the lung. A lung specialist then referred me for more tests and scans. There were conflicting reports from these scans which indicated some doubt in the diagnosis. The radiologist wrote that an infection appeared to be a more likely cause.
The euphoria was short-lived. On my return visit to the lung specialist the next week, he dismissed the radiologist’s report and recommended urgent surgery to be sure. He proposed to remove a third of my lung the following week.
It was like being on a roller coaster as I hurtled from optimism to a sense of hopelessness and back to optimism again. I felt vulnerable and uncertain.
We still had our family Christmas. They all booked accommodation near my home and I called in and had some wonderful time with them. They became even more special to me. When I was tired I came home to my little haven and rested.
While I didn't experience long nights of crying and feeling miserable, moments sneaked up on me a few times. I was having brunch with my sister, her daughter and three children in an Inverloch cafe. We were enjoying our meal and chatting away amicably and I suddenly thought this might be my last Christmas and how much I loved them. A few tears escaped and ran down my cheek.
I was okay about having surgery if needed but not enthusiastic about having a third of my lung removed – which would involve hospitalisation, intensive care and rehab – if there was some doubt about the diagnosis. I decided to seek another opinion. Armed with the scans and reports, I consulted an oncologist at the leading cancer hospital in Melbourne. Looking atthe scans, he told me the mass had dispersed and what was there looked more like inflammation than cancer.
I remember my dear friend driving me home after that appointment. We took a circuitous route via arguably the best op shop in Melbourne when a driver turned straight in front of us, causing my friend to brake suddenly. “Selfish pig,” I said, then added “It’s great to get back to getting upset about those tiny annoyances again”. We laughed uproariously for about five minutes. Actually, I think we were hysterical.
A month down the track, I can see the journey wasn't all bad. I appreciate the many insights. I learned that it is important to take personal responsibility for interpreting information and making decisions. And to recognise my limitations and call on help when needed.
I am fortunate to live in a country where I have access to health services and medical professionals. I will always appreciate the speedy response to my situation from all the medical professionals involved.
Having a small supportive team was crucial to my sense of well being. A delegation from this tight little support group of friends and family went with me to all appointments, took notes, took me to parks, laughed and cried with me and even attempted to interpret x-rays. I could not have managed without them. Well, I could have, but it would have been horrible.
I also discovered how much goodwill and support I receive from my friends. The generous and thoughtful offers I received were overwhelming. It reinforced to me that I have found my tribe. I cannot imagine life without them.
Whenever I rested I visualised. With each breath in, I would imagine a group of soldiers (unarmed and friendly) marching into my right lung, searching for intruders (unnamed) and showing them off the property. This technique also helped me get to sleep. One of my dear friends suggested that because of the good job my soldiers did I should give them some time off. I said they do not leave until the job is done, then I will throw them a party.
During the roller coaster ride, my sister and I went into a local clothing shop and I saw a beautiful frock. “Buy it,” she said. “What’s the point if I only have three months to live,” I replied dramatically. Later I thought that was all the more reason to buy the frock.
A most wonderful discovery is that sunsets are now more beautiful, the fireworks more vibrant and my love for my family more intense, as is my deep respect and appreciation of my friends.
I've changed. I am not totally out of the woods but it doesn't matter. There is some work to be done. None of us knows when and what will happen to us in the future. All we have is today. Making the most of every moment is more important than ever. I am calmer and probably happier than I have ever been.
I still get tired but not as much as before my enforced rest. My beloved daughter assures me it is just because I am old.
COMMENTS
February 25, 2015
Many thanks to Julie Statkus for a brave recounting of a potential trauma. Wonderful advice to seek a second opinion if you do not like to first one.
Felicia Di Stefano, Glen Forbes
RSS Feed