A Different Sort of Journey

As you all know, this blog usually recounts our travels and adventures abroad. This post, however, is about a very different sort of journey—one that wasn’t on our itinerary and certainly not one I would have chosen. Spoiler alert: it involved doctors, tests, and a whole lot of stress.

The Family History Nobody Wants

Since my 40s, I’ve worried about heart disease. My mom had triple bypass surgery at 46 and died at 69 from heart disease and other complications. Not exactly the family legacy one hopes for. Naturally, because of my family history, I’ve kept a close eye on my cholesterol. In recent years, it’s been creeping upward, but I’ve resisted starting medication. The common wisdom is that once you start using drugs to control cholesterol, you are pretty much stuck with them for life.

The Scan

During our summer in Pennsylvania, I read a New York Times article about a CT scan that can detect plaque in coronary arteries. I thought, “Why not?” Among other things, the scan can help inform a decision about how aggressive to be in managing cholesterol. My doctor happily ordered it—then casually mentioned insurance wouldn’t cover it because it’s considered a “screening test.” Translation: not “medically necessary” unless you already have heart disease (don’t get me started). So, I paid out of pocket and found a private medical center in Ohio that could get me in a lot sooner than the healthcare system I typically use in Pennsylvania. Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not my virtue.

An Unexpected Twist

The scan results? My arteries aren’t too bad. Relief! But then came the kicker: a little star-shaped nodule in my lung. Wait. What?! This is referred to as an incidental finding, and just like that, my “peace of mind” test had turned into possible lung cancer. I was told I needed to see a thoracic surgeon and probably have a PET scan to detect cancer. I waited. I called. I called again. The earliest appointment was months away. Meanwhile, my anxiety was moving at warp speed.

Spain to the Rescue

Then I thought – what about Spain? As legal residents of Spain, we have private health insurance there. I logged into our Spanish healthcare system’s website, and within less than a minute had an appointment booked with a lung specialist for the following week. Just like that, I had booked an appointment with a specialist in less time than it took to get past the hold music in my U.S. provider’s system. With my anxiety levels rising off the charts, we decided I needed to be at that appointment in Spain. So, we packed our bags leaving behind the precious time with our family.

“Stress is an ignorant state. It believes everything is an emergency.” – Natalie Goldberg

The Whirlwind in Valencia

From the moment we landed, things moved at lightning speed. By the next morning, I was in a pulmonologist’s office. She ordered another scan, and within a couple of days, I was having a pulmonary function test. The doctor who conducted the test explained every detail and assured me my lungs are working just fine. With a smile and a cheerful “Buenos Días, Señora!”  he explained that the report would be emailed to me in a couple of days.

The second CT scan confirmed the little star shaped nodule along with a couple of other even smaller ones. It turned out they are too small for a PET scan to be effective. At my follow-up appointment the pulmonary doctor said she was not worried at all about the nodules and told me to get another scan in about six months to confirm there were no changes. Relief. Except . . . just when I started to breathe, I noticed another incidental finding in the radiologist’s report. He noted an enlarged pulmonary artery—possibly indicating pulmonary hypertension. This not a phrase you want in your medical record. Pulmonary hypertension is a very nasty diagnosis and trust me, a nurse with internet access is a dangerous combination. Within an hour, I’d once again convinced myself my days were numbered.

The Longest Two Weeks

The next stretch felt endless. More tests, more waiting rooms, more restless nights. But Spain has its bright spots. Very little waiting time for appointments with specialists and the cardiologists here do echocardiograms themselves – right in their own office. No scheduling, no referrals—just “take off your shirt” and fifteen minutes later a cardiologist was telling me: “You don’t have this.” A second opinion with a specialist confirmed it: no pulmonary hypertension, no heart disease. Just a nudge to eat more leafy greens, walk more, and maybe ease up on the Jamón Ibérico. Easier said than done, but I’ll try.

Not Alone

All told, this whole rollercoaster took less than two weeks, though it felt much longer. There were tears, sleepless nights, and moments when my imagination ran wild with the worst-case scenarios. Looking back now, I feel a little silly for how quickly I leapt to the darkest conclusions. But in the moment, it was terrifying. What steadied me through it all was Ed. He came with me to every appointment, sat through every test, listened to every late-night worry. He made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t, and he loved me through my very worst “panic spirals.” He was my anchor.

Looking Ahead

This wasn’t a journey I wanted, but it was one that reminded me how fragile and precious life is. And it reminded me how lucky I am not to walk it alone.

Thank you, dear family and friends, for caring and for being part of our circle. Your support means so much.

We’re relieved to close this chapter and ready to get back to the kind of blogging we prefer—the joyful, travel-filled kind. This afternoon, we’re off to France, and I promise the only scans we’ll be talking about will be of wine lists and pastry counters. We’ll be celebrating our 52nd wedding anniversary in Versailles! Au revoir et au plaisir de vous voir bientôt !

“Live life when you have it. Life is a splendid gift-there is nothing small about it.” – Florence Nightingale