Cat scan 2
The second time went so much easier than the first. I was prepared to fight for myself this time. I think that it is just the way that we women are raised. Especially on the prairie.
Don't call too much attention to yourself.
Respect doctors to a ridiculous degree. I was raised to think of doctors as almost as respectable as priests. It was almost unthinkable to me to question a doctor's decision.
Put others first. Your pain can be dealt with later.
These ways of behaving have all been shoved out the door now...for me.
I am worthy of the doctor's time. If I have a question, I ask.
I am respectful to all but when I believe a doctor is wrong, I say so.
I care for others, but I tend to myself. I can't take care of others if I am unwell myself.
Today, I went into my cat scan prepared to advocate for myself. I have crummy veins. No, you cannot poke at me twenty times or dig in my arm, searching aimlessly for a vein. It hurts. I no longer bite my lip and suffer in silence. I say, "You are hurting me. Please find someone else who is good at finding difficult veins."
It has taken me YEARS to get comfortable doing this.
Luckily, it wasn't necessary this time. A nurse, Kathie, came to stick me and prepare me for my IV contrast. I sat down and told her that I was a difficult stick, that she would be permitted to try twice to find a vein, after that....she needed to find someone else if she was unsuccessful. I breathed a sigh of relief when she was not snotty about it in the least, but agreed heartily.
She got it on the second try. Whew! And she praised me for advocating for myself. Told me that it is never their intention to see people suffer, but often they simply don't know how badly it hurts and it helps to be reminded.
T was astonished, I think, to see me emerge from the sticking room after just a few minutes. She is used to me coming out shaking and in tears after about 45 minutes or so. And with emerging black, blue, and green bruises on my arms and hands.
Then it was time for us to go to get the cat scan. My hospital has a new cat scan unit. It is in a little unit outside of the hospital that looks like a train compartment. As we were walking, I heard T whisper to Kathie that I could not walk up stairs, would need a wheelchair and a lift.
I stopped and turned around. This time, it was T who got my advocating. I told her as quietly as I could that I DID NOT need a wheelchair and she was NOT to treat me like her child. She backed off. We had just talked about this last night and she saw that I meant business.
I am WOMAN. Hear me roar......
Kathie looked impressed. T looked nonplussed. But, I was in NO mood.
When we arrived at the unit, Kathie went in to inform Landon, the tech, that I was ready. T and I sat in chairs. T apologized. I accepted. When Kathie emerged with Landon, she told me that Landon thought it best to use the lift, but that I could stand on it, would not need a wheelchair, unless I WANTED ONE. I agreed.
I liked Landon immediately, I confess because he looked like a young Elton John. I mentioned it to him and he laughed. Said that he had not heard that one, but he took it as a compliment. He guided me to the lift and we stood together. He instructed me to hold on tightly to the rails on the side and up we went.
The rest of the cat scan was painless. He got the contrast dye going. A warning if you ever get a cat scan: you will feel a sharp sting, sort of like a bee sting, quickly followed by a deep warmth that feels EXACTLY as if you have wet your pants.
This is completely normal and to be expected. Your tech will probably caution you. Mine did. But, if he or she fails to do this, be prepared. No. You have NOT wet your pants.
You will spread out on a benchlike thing with your head on a pillow. You will have to put your hands over your head. If you have rheumatoid arthritis, like me, this will hurt badly. But the test is not long. You are slid into a tube. If you are claustrophobic, tell the tech because it is a little disconcerting at first. I am not claustrophobic, in fact....I confess to not minding at all. It sort of felt like a metallic hug to me. Then, a sweet woman's voice will tell you to take a big breath in and hold it.
About five seconds will pass and she will say, "You may now release." So, release. This happens about five or six times as the machine is moved to different parts of your body.
The whole process takes about a half hour. Then, if you are lucky...an Elton John lookalike will gently take your hand and help you to sit up. In my case, because I am quite anemic, I had to sit for a few moments because I was dizzy. Maybe you won't be.
Landon and I took this time to visit about his family. He is married and has a two year old son and a three year old daughter. His wife likes to stop by and bring him his lunch and the kids like to ride the lift.
"It's like a Disney ride to them," Landon told me, grinning. I asked him if he got lonely all by himself in his little unit. He said no, that it was always interesting and he was so busy that the time went fast. By then, I was ready to stand up and he gallantly gave me his arm to use as we walked to the lift and then he made sure I was secure and holding on tightly and off we went.
All in all, the whole thing took about an hour. Afterwards, I was instructed to drink a lot of water to flush out the dye.
This afternoon, there is a MRI and then tomorrow....an appointment to see the oncologist to get the results.
I am not looking forward to that conversation, but I am trying to prepare myself. Like most cancer patients, I am hyper aware of my body. I have felt for the last few weeks that I was growing much weaker. Plus, the pain was getting sharper. Other side effects sprang forth: it was becoming a little hard to swallow. Well, not really swallowing....but I felt as if any food that I ate got stuck in the space between my breasts, right where my lesion is. I had felt this before I went on Ibrance, but had thought it was indigestion. It had went away almost immediately after I started taking it and my cancer markers began to drop. I also had experienced the hiccups a lot before Ibrance and they, too, had disappeared.
Now, both were back. And my cancer markers have risen sharply. This has led me to deduce that the cancer is growing again.....rapidly. And that the Ibrance has stopped working.
I suspect that this will be the subject of my test results talk tomorrow. That, and a check to see if my white blood cells and neuts are improving. If they are, I may be able to try another treatment. If not? I will cross that bridge when I get there. Right now, I am just trying to prepare myself, to gird my loins.
Whatever it is, I will persevere. With T by my side, as always. She has jokingly began to call me M'lady or Your Grace. I think, though, that she is proud of my newfound cheekiness.
I refuse to be treated with anything but respect. By anyone, but especially by medical personnel. It helps. I would rather be that bitchy old lady than that mealy mouthed scaredy cat.
I will be strong. I am learning. I seldom cry in public anymore. I save it for my bath water or in bed late at night.
We royals must set the standard......
Don't call too much attention to yourself.
Respect doctors to a ridiculous degree. I was raised to think of doctors as almost as respectable as priests. It was almost unthinkable to me to question a doctor's decision.
Put others first. Your pain can be dealt with later.
These ways of behaving have all been shoved out the door now...for me.
I am worthy of the doctor's time. If I have a question, I ask.
I am respectful to all but when I believe a doctor is wrong, I say so.
I care for others, but I tend to myself. I can't take care of others if I am unwell myself.
Today, I went into my cat scan prepared to advocate for myself. I have crummy veins. No, you cannot poke at me twenty times or dig in my arm, searching aimlessly for a vein. It hurts. I no longer bite my lip and suffer in silence. I say, "You are hurting me. Please find someone else who is good at finding difficult veins."
It has taken me YEARS to get comfortable doing this.
Luckily, it wasn't necessary this time. A nurse, Kathie, came to stick me and prepare me for my IV contrast. I sat down and told her that I was a difficult stick, that she would be permitted to try twice to find a vein, after that....she needed to find someone else if she was unsuccessful. I breathed a sigh of relief when she was not snotty about it in the least, but agreed heartily.
She got it on the second try. Whew! And she praised me for advocating for myself. Told me that it is never their intention to see people suffer, but often they simply don't know how badly it hurts and it helps to be reminded.
T was astonished, I think, to see me emerge from the sticking room after just a few minutes. She is used to me coming out shaking and in tears after about 45 minutes or so. And with emerging black, blue, and green bruises on my arms and hands.
Then it was time for us to go to get the cat scan. My hospital has a new cat scan unit. It is in a little unit outside of the hospital that looks like a train compartment. As we were walking, I heard T whisper to Kathie that I could not walk up stairs, would need a wheelchair and a lift.
I stopped and turned around. This time, it was T who got my advocating. I told her as quietly as I could that I DID NOT need a wheelchair and she was NOT to treat me like her child. She backed off. We had just talked about this last night and she saw that I meant business.
I am WOMAN. Hear me roar......
Kathie looked impressed. T looked nonplussed. But, I was in NO mood.
When we arrived at the unit, Kathie went in to inform Landon, the tech, that I was ready. T and I sat in chairs. T apologized. I accepted. When Kathie emerged with Landon, she told me that Landon thought it best to use the lift, but that I could stand on it, would not need a wheelchair, unless I WANTED ONE. I agreed.
I liked Landon immediately, I confess because he looked like a young Elton John. I mentioned it to him and he laughed. Said that he had not heard that one, but he took it as a compliment. He guided me to the lift and we stood together. He instructed me to hold on tightly to the rails on the side and up we went.
The rest of the cat scan was painless. He got the contrast dye going. A warning if you ever get a cat scan: you will feel a sharp sting, sort of like a bee sting, quickly followed by a deep warmth that feels EXACTLY as if you have wet your pants.
This is completely normal and to be expected. Your tech will probably caution you. Mine did. But, if he or she fails to do this, be prepared. No. You have NOT wet your pants.
You will spread out on a benchlike thing with your head on a pillow. You will have to put your hands over your head. If you have rheumatoid arthritis, like me, this will hurt badly. But the test is not long. You are slid into a tube. If you are claustrophobic, tell the tech because it is a little disconcerting at first. I am not claustrophobic, in fact....I confess to not minding at all. It sort of felt like a metallic hug to me. Then, a sweet woman's voice will tell you to take a big breath in and hold it.
About five seconds will pass and she will say, "You may now release." So, release. This happens about five or six times as the machine is moved to different parts of your body.
The whole process takes about a half hour. Then, if you are lucky...an Elton John lookalike will gently take your hand and help you to sit up. In my case, because I am quite anemic, I had to sit for a few moments because I was dizzy. Maybe you won't be.
Landon and I took this time to visit about his family. He is married and has a two year old son and a three year old daughter. His wife likes to stop by and bring him his lunch and the kids like to ride the lift.
"It's like a Disney ride to them," Landon told me, grinning. I asked him if he got lonely all by himself in his little unit. He said no, that it was always interesting and he was so busy that the time went fast. By then, I was ready to stand up and he gallantly gave me his arm to use as we walked to the lift and then he made sure I was secure and holding on tightly and off we went.
All in all, the whole thing took about an hour. Afterwards, I was instructed to drink a lot of water to flush out the dye.
This afternoon, there is a MRI and then tomorrow....an appointment to see the oncologist to get the results.
I am not looking forward to that conversation, but I am trying to prepare myself. Like most cancer patients, I am hyper aware of my body. I have felt for the last few weeks that I was growing much weaker. Plus, the pain was getting sharper. Other side effects sprang forth: it was becoming a little hard to swallow. Well, not really swallowing....but I felt as if any food that I ate got stuck in the space between my breasts, right where my lesion is. I had felt this before I went on Ibrance, but had thought it was indigestion. It had went away almost immediately after I started taking it and my cancer markers began to drop. I also had experienced the hiccups a lot before Ibrance and they, too, had disappeared.
Now, both were back. And my cancer markers have risen sharply. This has led me to deduce that the cancer is growing again.....rapidly. And that the Ibrance has stopped working.
I suspect that this will be the subject of my test results talk tomorrow. That, and a check to see if my white blood cells and neuts are improving. If they are, I may be able to try another treatment. If not? I will cross that bridge when I get there. Right now, I am just trying to prepare myself, to gird my loins.
Whatever it is, I will persevere. With T by my side, as always. She has jokingly began to call me M'lady or Your Grace. I think, though, that she is proud of my newfound cheekiness.
I refuse to be treated with anything but respect. By anyone, but especially by medical personnel. It helps. I would rather be that bitchy old lady than that mealy mouthed scaredy cat.
I will be strong. I am learning. I seldom cry in public anymore. I save it for my bath water or in bed late at night.
We royals must set the standard......
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