Goldfish, Angels and Mail....Oh My!

I'll never forget what it was like to sit in an oncologist's waiting room as a patient for the first time. My husband was with me, the kids were in school, our youngest having just started kindergarten.

I remember there was a large fish tank. There were big orange fish with fat round cheeks lumbering alongside graceful angelfish with long, flowing fins. There was a school of tiny blue fish with neon yellow stripes darting from one end of the tank to the other. 

I remember the collection of angel statues housed on the receptionist's desk. There were small porcelain cherubs and several larger, brightly colored angelic figurines.

There was a coffee table covered in magazines. In addition to the usual Sports Illustrated and Good Housekeeping publications, there were lots of Guideposts magazines. I chose one and began reading it.

"Debra." An official looking nurse called my name.  I fumbled with the magazine, glanced at Joe, and we headed her way.

We met the oncologist, who was a tall, red-haired man around my age. He calmly explained the need for further testing. When he said I needed a bone marrow aspiration, I burst into tears, as I'd been warned by the referring doctor that this test would be 'excruciatingly painful.' 

When I told the oncologist that, he shook his head sadly. "He should have never told you that," he said. "It's not."

Within minutes, it was arranged for me to have the test done immediately. "Why not?" the oncologist asked. "If you wait a few days, you're going to worry the whole time. Let's just get it done."

So I agreed. And the oncologist was right. Thanks to gentle sedation, it didn't hurt at all. And I was glad to get it over with.

My husband and I left with a handful of instructions to pursue further testing at the hospital and return to the oncologist's office in a week. Since we had upcoming plans to travel with the kids, I remember Joe asking, "Will this interfere with our trip?"

I'll never forget the doctor's response: "This never happens at a convenient time," he said. "Let's just wait and see what the test results show."

Again, his response was so calm. So matter-of-fact. No cause for panic. It gave no reason to be alarmed, just prepared.

I liked this doctor. He exuded confidence. He was on our insurance plan.  My friend endorsed him. He was the physician God chose for my care. He was a good choice.

However, little did I know that a letter was in the mail, on it's way to me, advising that our health insurance carrier was changing. In fact, the change had already taken effect by the time I received the letter. The mail should have arrived before my oncologist's appointment, but since we had just moved into a new home, our mail had to be rerouted from our old address, causing a delay in delivery.

Good thing.

Because if the notice from the insurance company had arrived on time, things may have developed differently. It would have chartered a different course for my care.

But that's not the way it went.

The letter arrived after my initial appointment with this oncologist, after the tests were already ordered, after the wheels were set in motion.

There was a reason for that.

God knows, there's always a reason.