This is a bone scan
Really riveting stuff here. But, I guarantee that someday some person is going to type "what is it like to get a bone scan?" into their computer and maybe this will be one of the pop ups. So....
You're welcome.
Actually, they are no big deal unless you are me. A person with no discernible veins. I have always been a hard stick. I have been told that I either have the veins of a newborn or a 90 year old woman. Plus, they tend to roll, dive, slither, sneak and collapse. They are diva veins. They are actually pretty smart after all these years of sticking. They know that whatever is coming is not going to feel good. I have had chemo juice and arsenic pumped through them. They see that needle and run.
Yesterday, at my bone scan, it was no different. You have to go in and have a radioactive substance called a tracer injected into a vein. Then you leave and come back 3 hours later and they do they scan to see how much of the tracer has been absorbed by the body. Too much or too little can indicate cancer.
I drank about a gallon of water before going in with the idea that this might encourage my veins to plump up a little bit. I dressed too warmly. When you are sweaty, your veins are more prominent. When the nurse asked me which arm was my good arm, I tried not to laugh....or cry.
I gave her the unfortunate news that neither arm was really in the mood for this sort of activity. She smiled.
"I'm known for being pretty good with veins. Let me give it a go, yes?"
I nodded wearily.
Four tries later, she looked exhausted. She told me that she had read about diving veins in her nursing textbooks but that mine took the cake. She tried all the things that they always try. She flicked my vein with her fingers, trying to slap it into being. She tied the rubber tubing so tight around my arm that I thought it would surely fall off. Warm blankets. Several times she was able to get into the vein only to have it coyly collapse just as she was set to inject the medicine.
It was time to call for back up. Another nurse came in. She was able to find a vein and get half of the tracer in before it collapsed. Then she tried another and was able to get the last bit in.
"If I were you, I'd have a permanent port line put in," she said. I nodded, ashamed.
I yelled at my veins all the way home in the car.
"What is your motherfucking problem?" I screamed. "Good hell, can't you just cooperate once? I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. But, it would really help me if we could work together on this thing."
I'm pretty sure they were silently giving me the finger.
I got home, both of my hands taped up like a prize fighters. Later that night when I unwrapped them, they would be mottled with bruises.
I went home and ate lunch. Drank even more water, as instructed.
The rest went like a charm. I was ushered in and told to simply lay on an MRI bed. I didn't have to get into a gown or take off my wedding ring or watch. Luckily, I am not claustrophobic. Although you are not in one of those tubes where you are packed in like a sausage, you have boards on either side of you and another one that comes down to within a half inch of your face. My hands and feet were put in cuffs so that I couldn't move them. And then it all started. The clicking sounds, the buzzing. The nurses were within six feet of me, watching the screen but I couldn't move my head to see it. Plus, they did make me take my glasses off, so I wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway. And seriously what do I know about reading those things? It isn't as if there are big red dots with arrows saying, CANCER RIGHT HERE.
Afterward, the nurse helped me sit up and was so tender towards me that I am now sure that my bones are riddled with cancer. She called me "dear" and actually hugged me when I left.
In my eyes, this is a very bad sign. But, this is my new normal. I have found that if I always expect bad news, it is lovely to be surprised. I feel like it has been bad news every time now and I am very ready for it to be somebody else's turn now.
So, no more sticks or tests until November 29th when I get my biopsies. Until then, I plan to give my veins pep talks.
I wish that I knew what to buy mad veins. Flowers? Candy? Maybe I'll sit with my arms resting on a heating pad before I go in.
At this point, I would buy them a pony if they would just.....WORK.
You're welcome.
Actually, they are no big deal unless you are me. A person with no discernible veins. I have always been a hard stick. I have been told that I either have the veins of a newborn or a 90 year old woman. Plus, they tend to roll, dive, slither, sneak and collapse. They are diva veins. They are actually pretty smart after all these years of sticking. They know that whatever is coming is not going to feel good. I have had chemo juice and arsenic pumped through them. They see that needle and run.
Yesterday, at my bone scan, it was no different. You have to go in and have a radioactive substance called a tracer injected into a vein. Then you leave and come back 3 hours later and they do they scan to see how much of the tracer has been absorbed by the body. Too much or too little can indicate cancer.
I drank about a gallon of water before going in with the idea that this might encourage my veins to plump up a little bit. I dressed too warmly. When you are sweaty, your veins are more prominent. When the nurse asked me which arm was my good arm, I tried not to laugh....or cry.
I gave her the unfortunate news that neither arm was really in the mood for this sort of activity. She smiled.
"I'm known for being pretty good with veins. Let me give it a go, yes?"
I nodded wearily.
Four tries later, she looked exhausted. She told me that she had read about diving veins in her nursing textbooks but that mine took the cake. She tried all the things that they always try. She flicked my vein with her fingers, trying to slap it into being. She tied the rubber tubing so tight around my arm that I thought it would surely fall off. Warm blankets. Several times she was able to get into the vein only to have it coyly collapse just as she was set to inject the medicine.
It was time to call for back up. Another nurse came in. She was able to find a vein and get half of the tracer in before it collapsed. Then she tried another and was able to get the last bit in.
"If I were you, I'd have a permanent port line put in," she said. I nodded, ashamed.
I yelled at my veins all the way home in the car.
"What is your motherfucking problem?" I screamed. "Good hell, can't you just cooperate once? I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. But, it would really help me if we could work together on this thing."
I'm pretty sure they were silently giving me the finger.
I got home, both of my hands taped up like a prize fighters. Later that night when I unwrapped them, they would be mottled with bruises.
I went home and ate lunch. Drank even more water, as instructed.
The rest went like a charm. I was ushered in and told to simply lay on an MRI bed. I didn't have to get into a gown or take off my wedding ring or watch. Luckily, I am not claustrophobic. Although you are not in one of those tubes where you are packed in like a sausage, you have boards on either side of you and another one that comes down to within a half inch of your face. My hands and feet were put in cuffs so that I couldn't move them. And then it all started. The clicking sounds, the buzzing. The nurses were within six feet of me, watching the screen but I couldn't move my head to see it. Plus, they did make me take my glasses off, so I wouldn't have been able to see anything anyway. And seriously what do I know about reading those things? It isn't as if there are big red dots with arrows saying, CANCER RIGHT HERE.
Afterward, the nurse helped me sit up and was so tender towards me that I am now sure that my bones are riddled with cancer. She called me "dear" and actually hugged me when I left.
In my eyes, this is a very bad sign. But, this is my new normal. I have found that if I always expect bad news, it is lovely to be surprised. I feel like it has been bad news every time now and I am very ready for it to be somebody else's turn now.
So, no more sticks or tests until November 29th when I get my biopsies. Until then, I plan to give my veins pep talks.
I wish that I knew what to buy mad veins. Flowers? Candy? Maybe I'll sit with my arms resting on a heating pad before I go in.
At this point, I would buy them a pony if they would just.....WORK.
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