On October 12, my right leg went weak, numb, tingly, and I had shooting pain from my gluteal region down to my ankle. I did one simple 3-mile run on the treadmill, and by the time I got home…this.

I thought maybe I sprained my ankle or something (amazing how doctors forget anatomy and forgo a physical exam when it comes to themselves) so I took some ibuprofen and went to bed. Nope. Same story in the AM. I’d been having some pain in my leg here and there for a few months, so I had seen a sports medicine physician. I called him up. He got me in within hours.

It took him about 2 minutes of talking with him and he said, “With your neuro symptoms, we need some advanced imaging.” He ordered the MRI, which I got the next day. A herniated disc. Well, that explained the symptoms. And prompted a referral to a spine specialist, for directed physical therapy and possibly a steroid injection.

But there was something else…

The radiologist reported this:

“Diffuse marrow heterogeneity, nonspecific but would recommend correlation with CBC as these findings are atypical for patient’s age.”

My doctor called me immediately. “So…I think this is nothing to worry about…but…” We chatted for a few minutes. There is this delicate dance when a physician has another physician as a patient. We can speak in “doctor code”, shorthand. And risk tolerance is exceptionally low. So more tests ensued…

Blood work. And a referral to a Hematologist/Oncologist (Heme/Onc).

Before my appointment with the Heme/Onc doctor, I was sent some paperwork…asking about my cancer history… As far as I knew, I had none. So I answered the questions the best I could and came to my appointment…alone…because: COVID.

I walked into the hospital as a patient, not a physician. I’ve been in University Hospital several times, yet I was lost. I walked past other patients who seemed to know where they were going. Masked, head wraps in place, eyebrows erased by chemotherapy…this was their second home. But it wasn’t mine…I felt alone…and scared.

My doctor couldn’t have been more awesome. We reviewed everything and decided the next step should be a bone scan. And more lab work.

The lab work came out fine. The bone scan was easy and also fine. But as a final measure, we decided a full spine MRI was the definitive step to prove all was ok.

I went for the MRI yesterday. I walked from my office on the second floor to the first floor of the hospital and though I was wearing my official ID badge, I became a patient. Suddenly, I was just “Ms. Hartwell”.

All of the gravity of the unlikely scenario of anything but a totally clean scan weighed heavy on me for the 90 minutes on that MRI table. The very kind guys who helped me with my scan eased me onto the table, gave me a warm blanket, some headphones…then placed a cage over my face, an IV in my left arm, and slowly moved the gantry backwards until my eyes were inches from the loud and pinging donut of the MRI machine.

“Remain still,” they asked.

I don’t remain still, as a general rule. I operate at two speeds: 150mph and asleep.

But remain still, I did. My back ached some, and I think my shoulders and buttocks got a little numb from staying still.

I laid on that table, the machine loud and pinging, and I thought about all that could be. A bone marrow biopsy. More tests. Chemo? My mouth got dry. I got hot and had to ask the tech to take the blanket off of me. What if…

The scan ended. I changed and headed back to my office, slowly becoming “Dr. Hartwell” along the walk. I chatted with my partners. Checked my email. Made a call. Sent a few texts.

My phone rang… “Jennifer, this is Dr. M. Your MRI looks beautiful. We have nothing to worry about.”

And that was it. I am fine. I am just fine. There’s no cancer. No need for more tests. I’m fine.

Christmas won’t be colored by a diagnosis that caught me off guard…

Suddenly, a small, COVID Christmas didn’t seem so bad at all. Suddenly, my heart broke for every friend, every patient I have, who will face a diagnosis that is devastating…cancer, trauma, a stroke…COVID.

I am grateful that I am ok…and I am grateful for the brush with the flip side of medicine as a patient…oh how I needed to be brought to the edge of not ok to make real my time spent with so many around me who are living on the flip side.

Disclaimer: My viewpoints are not necessarily reflective of my employer, or any local, regional or national organization that I belong to. As a matter of fact, I pretty much just speak for myself. Please keep that in mind.