If I had a dollar.
If I had a dollar for every time someone said "well you look healthy!" I would be on my way to buying the cancer out of my body at a super fancy medical tourism juice spa. Lately I say something smart in return, like "not as healthy as I looked before chemo!" B.C.
It's true, and I'm still struggling, day...9? I think? since chemo started. And my relative good health is miraculous considering the kids have traded random high fever viruses for the last two weeks.
Today I went for a bone scan. It had been scheduled for before chemo, but we had several re-schedulings and misunderstandings that pushed it to today. My oncologist thinks I am likely fine and she thinks my pelvic pain is likely muscular, but that has not quelled the tiny bit of anxiety while I wait for results.
I can summarize the bone scan like this:
WHY DIDN'T THEY OFFER ME VALIUM BEFORE THE BONE SCAN, RATHER THAN THE MRI?!
First, I had to arrive 3 hours before the scan, to be injected with a nuclear medicine that needs several hours to spread through my body. She asked me ahead of time if I was "really really claustrophobic." I admitted that I am mildly claustrophobic, and she assured me that the bone scan was "really easy and nothing like the MRI." My first words when it ended were "that was WAY worse than the MRI!"
The machine not only has walls and a ceiling that encompass you just like the MRI, but the freaking ceiling closes down on your body so you are sandwiched in the walls (*shudder*). The first five minutes were fully immersed in the tomb machine. Oh, and the best part is that they put a band around my feet to keep them from moving, and then COCOONED SOME THICK VELCRO STRAP JACKET AROUND MY ARMS, which were straight next to my body. I had to ask her to loosen them up, because it was way too much for a control-enthusiast, to be completely immobilized and put into a machine for 30 minutes with the ceiling pressed down. She put a 1" or 2" foam square-shaped barrier on my chest to make sure that's where the machine stopped. Seriously.
Once my head was out, I opened my eyes to see monitors above the machine, and could clearly see three spots lit up brightly in my pelvic area. Did I mention that's where my pain was? I asked cautiously... "are those spots that are lit up from the medication?" She laughed and said "that's your bladder and kidneys. These monitors won't show anything diagnostic." And then because it wasn't nerve-wracking enough, my head had to go in three more times before we were done.
Anyway, 0/10, do not recommend.
While I was in the waiting area, another man was waiting in a gown, looking down. I noticed his Steelers slides, and commented that I was a Steelers fan. He responded with a half-hearted "Great." I let the conversation end there, as one should, and went back to sending work emails. About five minutes later, he piped up again.
"Do you have AFib, too?"
I said no, I was there getting a bone scan. He kept talking. "I thought I was coming in for sciatic pain, and they had trouble getting my pulse. They put me on a monitor, and my heart was going crazy. The entire bottom half looked spastic, and they couldn't believe I didn't have chest pain. I was just getting my nerve looked at..."
I sympathized. "Yeah...I thought I was going in for a cyst and found out I have breast cancer. Thank goodness our bodies gave us signs that we should get checked out."
He shook his head. "Praise God," he said.
I added, "whenever I pray for good health, I pray that if something is wrong with me, that I get a sign early so that I can catch it and treat it." And then I was called back, as he was nodding along. He was the second person of the day to exclaim that I "looked healthy," and wished me luck. The first person was the radiologist, after asking how I felt. And the third was my co-worker, also after asking how I felt. "Well you look healthy, your hair looks amazing, and I can't believe you have a smile on your face. I would never know you were going through all of this."
I'm thankful that the way I feel inside is not manifesting in my outward appearance. I'm thankful for the insight from others, that despite how I feel at times, I come across as positive. I'm working on getting stronger - mentally, physically, and spiritually - before the next round comes around, because status quo is truly the goal these days.
Meanwhile, I will just be over here maintaining my skin care regimen and sipping Ensure Plus. I even stopped half way down the stairs leaving the hospital to put my Apple watch back on, so I could get credit for this little bit of exercise today. Faking it till I make it.
It's true, and I'm still struggling, day...9? I think? since chemo started. And my relative good health is miraculous considering the kids have traded random high fever viruses for the last two weeks.
Today I went for a bone scan. It had been scheduled for before chemo, but we had several re-schedulings and misunderstandings that pushed it to today. My oncologist thinks I am likely fine and she thinks my pelvic pain is likely muscular, but that has not quelled the tiny bit of anxiety while I wait for results.
I can summarize the bone scan like this:
WHY DIDN'T THEY OFFER ME VALIUM BEFORE THE BONE SCAN, RATHER THAN THE MRI?!
First, I had to arrive 3 hours before the scan, to be injected with a nuclear medicine that needs several hours to spread through my body. She asked me ahead of time if I was "really really claustrophobic." I admitted that I am mildly claustrophobic, and she assured me that the bone scan was "really easy and nothing like the MRI." My first words when it ended were "that was WAY worse than the MRI!"
 |
| Google image of the torture device |
 |
| Google image of the torture device |
Once my head was out, I opened my eyes to see monitors above the machine, and could clearly see three spots lit up brightly in my pelvic area. Did I mention that's where my pain was? I asked cautiously... "are those spots that are lit up from the medication?" She laughed and said "that's your bladder and kidneys. These monitors won't show anything diagnostic." And then because it wasn't nerve-wracking enough, my head had to go in three more times before we were done.
Anyway, 0/10, do not recommend.
While I was in the waiting area, another man was waiting in a gown, looking down. I noticed his Steelers slides, and commented that I was a Steelers fan. He responded with a half-hearted "Great." I let the conversation end there, as one should, and went back to sending work emails. About five minutes later, he piped up again.
"Do you have AFib, too?"
I said no, I was there getting a bone scan. He kept talking. "I thought I was coming in for sciatic pain, and they had trouble getting my pulse. They put me on a monitor, and my heart was going crazy. The entire bottom half looked spastic, and they couldn't believe I didn't have chest pain. I was just getting my nerve looked at..."
I sympathized. "Yeah...I thought I was going in for a cyst and found out I have breast cancer. Thank goodness our bodies gave us signs that we should get checked out."
He shook his head. "Praise God," he said.
I added, "whenever I pray for good health, I pray that if something is wrong with me, that I get a sign early so that I can catch it and treat it." And then I was called back, as he was nodding along. He was the second person of the day to exclaim that I "looked healthy," and wished me luck. The first person was the radiologist, after asking how I felt. And the third was my co-worker, also after asking how I felt. "Well you look healthy, your hair looks amazing, and I can't believe you have a smile on your face. I would never know you were going through all of this."
I'm thankful that the way I feel inside is not manifesting in my outward appearance. I'm thankful for the insight from others, that despite how I feel at times, I come across as positive. I'm working on getting stronger - mentally, physically, and spiritually - before the next round comes around, because status quo is truly the goal these days.
Meanwhile, I will just be over here maintaining my skin care regimen and sipping Ensure Plus. I even stopped half way down the stairs leaving the hospital to put my Apple watch back on, so I could get credit for this little bit of exercise today. Faking it till I make it.
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