The day after Christmas Mike had left for the hospital, assuming he’d quickly be in a room and getting ready for tests. However, the next 10 hours were full of errors and being brought in/out of tests, all of which were supposed to be done after admission. “I had no doctor,” Mike remembers. “nothing was coordinated, I was in pain, afraid, and alone.”

Mike didn't get a room until 5 pm that day, with nothing to eat or drink “due to the orders for testing.” My heart (and probably yours) aches hearing about a patient going through something this intense being left unattended. Was his health assessed? Yes, but what about him as a person, with a life and family at home?

At this point in his story, I began to have more memories of my own grandfather. I vaguely remember parts of my family gathering in groups. Huddled together in the waiting room, some played games with younger kids, some crying, and some just waiting. The memory of the fresh scarring on his head came back to me like I had only seen it yesterday. The realization hit me that my grandfather probably felt similar to Mike.

“As I got into my hospital room there was a sudden urge to be with my family”, he started. “I wanted to take the IV out and go home.” But the tests had already started. “I knew I had to stay and see the outcome of the PET Scan”. Finally, it was time to see what his Cannabinoid medicine was really up against. When you have already gone through it as many times as he has though, sometimes you just know. I like to imagine it's similar to the way a woman can sometimes just know she's pregnant. “I knew I'd get the news." Then, an hour after getting settled, the oncologist came to visit.

“Mr. Robinson, there is a high UV positive reaction throughout your entire abdominal region, extending into your liver..." Those words alone are enough to knock you straight into another dimension. “It didn't matter what I braced myself for [anymore] this was the news I didn't want to hear.” A new question now settled in. 

Was cannabis going to be enough?

"I'm scheduling both a needle biopsy into your abdomen and a bone marrow biopsy for tomorrow, we need to find the etiology of this Cancer in order to treat it,” the oncologist informed him. “I didn't think much about her orders….But, two months later I'm still feeling the pain of having two procedures done back to back”. You see, while cannabis can help make it more manageable, the recovery is still hard.

The news was in, the bone marrow biopsy for Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma was Negative. Due to the PET Scan, and the density of the UV signal coupled with other biopsy and lab results, the diagnosis was made once again. Something to note here is the fact that the diagnosis didn’t come from a positive test, but rather from other signs.

Being able to get a clear image proved to be tougher than they thought, so they were forced to go in and search. "We just see a blur, a big haze, I need to look with my eyes," the surgical oncologist explained. With that, Mike had no choice but to sign off to allow him to go on a search mission, “knowing it would be very invasive and scar tissue from multiple other surgeries would be problematic.”

And so, Jan. 2, 2023 started with being rushed into pre-op “…four hours before the scheduled time”, he shared. “I sat in what I called the 'breakfast nook'... thinking ‘how fancy is this?’ A nurse's aide came in to take vitals, so I commented on it.” 

The aide quickly retorted with "This isn't a breakfast nook Mr. Robinson, this is a treatment area.” Just like that, a sharp snap back to reality, but it would be even harsher this time. 

On the bright side, with the previous tests he’d seen, Mike felt confident in his choice. After being poked, prodded, and prepped the oncologist paid their visit. No comfort though, since “I had to get in quickly due to something he saw in the scans”, Mike began. “I asked what [he saw], but he was vague. “I just need to see, it's too busy in there” was the oncologist’s answer.

A short while later, darkness comforted him. Time stopped, as if it really didn't even exist. “... Suddenly the lights got bright. I realized I made it through whatever was done to me, and with minimal pain medication.”

"You asked for no opioids Mr. Robinson," a nurse said. She was correct. As soon as Mike started to say "Please administer them to me clinically, IV only," the nurse was already one step ahead. Like a puff of smoke in the wind, his worries had no space here, nothing to do but dissipate. Melting into the figurative breeze, for now at least.