Well, today is the day I learn for sure what I have, and what we are going
to do about it. Similar to being in the defendants seat as the jury walks in, but
better than a root canal.
Throughout the process I have come to truly respect the Doctors and
Nurses and Aides who have helped me through this process and helped me
come to grips with the concept of having cancer. I have also come to
understand the valiant efforts of the medical equipment companies to find all
of the descendants of the Marquis de Sade to help them design the wonderful
equipment I have been strapped to over the past two weeks.
First thing today, I had to have a PET scan. Now, if you did this to YOUR pet, you would be
charged with cruelty by the ASPCA, but since you are human, all bets are off...For the PET
scan, the first thing they do is inject you with radioactive sugar. Yes, you read that right,
sugar. Then they lay you down in a dark room, and tell you NOT TO MOVE A MUSCLE.
According to them, it is because the muscles will use the sugar instead of the cancer.
Hmmm... Anyway, if they had just said, "lie down quietly for an hour and we will be back,"
most people would just fall asleep for a while and not move. But by telling you NOT TO
MOVE A MUSCLE, after injecting you with SUGAR, for heavens sake, they know that
every little muscle in your body will be screaming, "Move me! Move me!" At least it gives
you something to agonize over for the next hour.
Actually, I believe that this is really a process for the hospital to save some money. I think
that what really happens is that they inject you with radioactive goop, leave you in a dark
room to glow, and use the light to power solar panels, but that is just my personal theory. It
might actually be more sinister...
Next came the PET scan. In preparation for the scan, several days earlier they has poked
four holes in the back of my pelvis, leaving bone bruises that would have put Mean Joe
Green on the disabled list. They SAID that these were for bone
marrow biopsies, but now I wonder... The PET scan consists of three
45 minute periods where you lay on a hard plastic bed with pressure
points right on the bone bruises, and are told not to move a bit or
they will have to do it again. (Funny, I had done research on the PET
scan, and one of the common descriptions was that you were "Put on
a comfortable bed." To the medical equipment industry, I guess that
"comfortable" means that they take the nails out of the board...) I
swore that I also heard "Und remember, you still haf relatives in zee Old Country," but I
could have been mistaken... I wouldn't exactly say it was excruciating, but it was the first
time in my life that I spent hours WISHING I were a masochist.
Next came the meeting with the oncologist. She was wonderful, and the news was
heartening. It was "classic" Hodgkins, which increased my chances of survival. My bones
and bone marrow were clear of infection, which also increases my chances. She then had to
discuss the potential risks and side affects of chemo, which was like trying to listen to any
drug ad on TV these days. They were unsettling, but not at all unexpected. After signing a
gazillion consent forms, they immediately sent me for my first chemotherapy.
The RN who managed the therapy was absolutely the best RN I have known, and I have
known many, having worked for years with the nursing industry. Strong and self-assured,
yet understanding and with a sense of humor, he explained what he was doing, what effects
I might see, he was informative, reassuring and light hearted. The chemo went well, and
now I wait to see which side affects might impact me. But no matter what, after all the tests
and scan and biopsies and injections and blood draws and IVs...at least NOW we are taking
action
to do about it. Similar to being in the defendants seat as the jury walks in, but
better than a root canal.
Throughout the process I have come to truly respect the Doctors and
Nurses and Aides who have helped me through this process and helped me
come to grips with the concept of having cancer. I have also come to
understand the valiant efforts of the medical equipment companies to find all
of the descendants of the Marquis de Sade to help them design the wonderful
equipment I have been strapped to over the past two weeks.
First thing today, I had to have a PET scan. Now, if you did this to YOUR pet, you would be
charged with cruelty by the ASPCA, but since you are human, all bets are off...For the PET
scan, the first thing they do is inject you with radioactive sugar. Yes, you read that right,
sugar. Then they lay you down in a dark room, and tell you NOT TO MOVE A MUSCLE.
According to them, it is because the muscles will use the sugar instead of the cancer.
Hmmm... Anyway, if they had just said, "lie down quietly for an hour and we will be back,"
most people would just fall asleep for a while and not move. But by telling you NOT TO
MOVE A MUSCLE, after injecting you with SUGAR, for heavens sake, they know that
every little muscle in your body will be screaming, "Move me! Move me!" At least it gives
you something to agonize over for the next hour.
Actually, I believe that this is really a process for the hospital to save some money. I think
that what really happens is that they inject you with radioactive goop, leave you in a dark
room to glow, and use the light to power solar panels, but that is just my personal theory. It
might actually be more sinister...
Next came the PET scan. In preparation for the scan, several days earlier they has poked
four holes in the back of my pelvis, leaving bone bruises that would have put Mean Joe
Green on the disabled list. They SAID that these were for bone
marrow biopsies, but now I wonder... The PET scan consists of three
45 minute periods where you lay on a hard plastic bed with pressure
points right on the bone bruises, and are told not to move a bit or
they will have to do it again. (Funny, I had done research on the PET
scan, and one of the common descriptions was that you were "Put on
a comfortable bed." To the medical equipment industry, I guess that
"comfortable" means that they take the nails out of the board...) I
swore that I also heard "Und remember, you still haf relatives in zee Old Country," but I
could have been mistaken... I wouldn't exactly say it was excruciating, but it was the first
time in my life that I spent hours WISHING I were a masochist.
Next came the meeting with the oncologist. She was wonderful, and the news was
heartening. It was "classic" Hodgkins, which increased my chances of survival. My bones
and bone marrow were clear of infection, which also increases my chances. She then had to
discuss the potential risks and side affects of chemo, which was like trying to listen to any
drug ad on TV these days. They were unsettling, but not at all unexpected. After signing a
gazillion consent forms, they immediately sent me for my first chemotherapy.
The RN who managed the therapy was absolutely the best RN I have known, and I have
known many, having worked for years with the nursing industry. Strong and self-assured,
yet understanding and with a sense of humor, he explained what he was doing, what effects
I might see, he was informative, reassuring and light hearted. The chemo went well, and
now I wait to see which side affects might impact me. But no matter what, after all the tests
and scan and biopsies and injections and blood draws and IVs...at least NOW we are taking
action
Journal One - "uh oh..."
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