Labs
I don't know who hates them more....T or me. I just know that lab day is not a good day in our home.
I get my labs every month two days before my appointment with my oncologist. It's a pain nightmare each and every time. I have tiny veins. They roll. They are deep. They have a strong tendency to blow out within seconds of a successful stick. This means that I get that FINALLY! moment, followed immediately by an Oh Fucking Shit one. Plus, it just hurts. It might be a good idea to get a port or PICC line, but I had bad luck with them, too. Especially with my PICC line. It was constantly getting clogged up and I had to get a shot of TPA to unclog it.
What is worse is that the phlebotomy nurses know that I am a hard stick and you can see them trying to figure out who is going to get stuck (pun intended) with me every time. I have only had success with one nurse every time. She was a nurse in the pediatric oncology floor for years and so good at finding veins that I practically fell in love with her.
So did all the other patients. She is fast. She is painless. She is accurate.
And you can't request her. It is just the luck of the draw when you go to labs. And I seldom get her. I always get the ones who try to stick my arm, even if I warn them over and over that I am a bad stick. I end up with gargantuan bruises on my arms. Every time. It is finally drawn from my hand after hot packs and tying the tourniquet on my arm so tightly that I bruise from that as well. The same questions are asked each and every month.
Did you drink a lot of water yesterday?
Only so much that I was practically floating.
Can you please hold very still?
Yes. Can you please realize that my arm is turning blue from the tourniquet and you are hurting me so badly that I am trying not to cry? But, yes...I will remain completely still and not make a sound.
It finally works. This is after I have watched 12 other patients come in, get stuck with no problem and leave. I am usually in a cold sweat and so sick to my stomach that I have to stop at the bathroom on the way to the car. I know that I am no fun, but truly I don't mean to be a problem. If I could make those veins pop up like snakes for you, I would do it in a heartbeat.
Instead, it is like one nurse told me once: It's like they know we're coming and they dive deep and hide. It is like trying to catch a cat.
I sit and watch them slowly fill the five little vials with my blood. I have tried to be hopeful and upbeat, but the last three labs have been pretty awful....each worse than the one before. I look at them and admit that I secretly wonder what terrible news I will be finding out in two days.
Will the cancer markers keep going up even after I have said my mantra every stinking night? Please go down. Please go down. Please go down.
Will my white blood cells keep going down even after I have said my mantra every stinking night? Please go up. Please go up. Please go up.
Sometimes I feel as if my body is against holding on for much longer in this fight. I try to eat well and healthy. Food does not always smell right to me. And I have always had a very strong gag reflex. My mother, if she were alive, would tell you that. She found out early on that trying to force me to clean my plate was fruitless.
I try to rest as much as I can, but truly....there are 90 year olds who sleep less than I do. I seem to sleep like a cat. I can easily sleep for 16 hours every day/night. My body rests like a champ.
I do everything right and still my body rebels. I sometimes think it is just so fucking mad at me. I mean, forcing it to endure 8 months of daily arsenic treatment for leukemia was cruel. It was like being a drug addict without the fun of the high.
I try to love my body, accept it. I tell it that I understand. It's okay. But, on the inside...I am like a stage mother. On the inside, I am thinking, "For fuck sakes, get to work! Heal! Even just a little bit. Just enough to keep me alive to see Lucy graduate college. Can you just do that for me?"
No, it seems, it can't. I am asking for too much. Instead, it complains in odd ways. If I bend over for more than three seconds at a time, I often cannot stand up straight again for days. The pain in my right shoulder is so intense that I can no longer sleep on my favorite side...the right side. My ankles freeze up sometimes for no reason and I have to walk like Frankenstein. Try it. Try walking without bending your ankles. It frustrates and embarrasses me.
I clumsily hold my toothbrush every morning, trying to will my fingers to bend to hold it. Sometimes they cooperate, sometimes not. Raising my arms up over my head has become so painful that when I take my clothes off or put them on, I try to think of ways to do it that do not involve too much arm raising. You do it more than you realize.
I am complaining. I am sorry. But, this is the life of a cancer fighter. One day, statistics say that you will either be like me or care for a loved one like me. So, be gentle. Be kind.
Understand when we snap at you.
Especially on lab days.
I get my labs every month two days before my appointment with my oncologist. It's a pain nightmare each and every time. I have tiny veins. They roll. They are deep. They have a strong tendency to blow out within seconds of a successful stick. This means that I get that FINALLY! moment, followed immediately by an Oh Fucking Shit one. Plus, it just hurts. It might be a good idea to get a port or PICC line, but I had bad luck with them, too. Especially with my PICC line. It was constantly getting clogged up and I had to get a shot of TPA to unclog it.
What is worse is that the phlebotomy nurses know that I am a hard stick and you can see them trying to figure out who is going to get stuck (pun intended) with me every time. I have only had success with one nurse every time. She was a nurse in the pediatric oncology floor for years and so good at finding veins that I practically fell in love with her.
So did all the other patients. She is fast. She is painless. She is accurate.
And you can't request her. It is just the luck of the draw when you go to labs. And I seldom get her. I always get the ones who try to stick my arm, even if I warn them over and over that I am a bad stick. I end up with gargantuan bruises on my arms. Every time. It is finally drawn from my hand after hot packs and tying the tourniquet on my arm so tightly that I bruise from that as well. The same questions are asked each and every month.
Did you drink a lot of water yesterday?
Only so much that I was practically floating.
Can you please hold very still?
Yes. Can you please realize that my arm is turning blue from the tourniquet and you are hurting me so badly that I am trying not to cry? But, yes...I will remain completely still and not make a sound.
It finally works. This is after I have watched 12 other patients come in, get stuck with no problem and leave. I am usually in a cold sweat and so sick to my stomach that I have to stop at the bathroom on the way to the car. I know that I am no fun, but truly I don't mean to be a problem. If I could make those veins pop up like snakes for you, I would do it in a heartbeat.
Instead, it is like one nurse told me once: It's like they know we're coming and they dive deep and hide. It is like trying to catch a cat.
I sit and watch them slowly fill the five little vials with my blood. I have tried to be hopeful and upbeat, but the last three labs have been pretty awful....each worse than the one before. I look at them and admit that I secretly wonder what terrible news I will be finding out in two days.
Will the cancer markers keep going up even after I have said my mantra every stinking night? Please go down. Please go down. Please go down.
Will my white blood cells keep going down even after I have said my mantra every stinking night? Please go up. Please go up. Please go up.
Sometimes I feel as if my body is against holding on for much longer in this fight. I try to eat well and healthy. Food does not always smell right to me. And I have always had a very strong gag reflex. My mother, if she were alive, would tell you that. She found out early on that trying to force me to clean my plate was fruitless.
I try to rest as much as I can, but truly....there are 90 year olds who sleep less than I do. I seem to sleep like a cat. I can easily sleep for 16 hours every day/night. My body rests like a champ.
I do everything right and still my body rebels. I sometimes think it is just so fucking mad at me. I mean, forcing it to endure 8 months of daily arsenic treatment for leukemia was cruel. It was like being a drug addict without the fun of the high.
I try to love my body, accept it. I tell it that I understand. It's okay. But, on the inside...I am like a stage mother. On the inside, I am thinking, "For fuck sakes, get to work! Heal! Even just a little bit. Just enough to keep me alive to see Lucy graduate college. Can you just do that for me?"
No, it seems, it can't. I am asking for too much. Instead, it complains in odd ways. If I bend over for more than three seconds at a time, I often cannot stand up straight again for days. The pain in my right shoulder is so intense that I can no longer sleep on my favorite side...the right side. My ankles freeze up sometimes for no reason and I have to walk like Frankenstein. Try it. Try walking without bending your ankles. It frustrates and embarrasses me.
I clumsily hold my toothbrush every morning, trying to will my fingers to bend to hold it. Sometimes they cooperate, sometimes not. Raising my arms up over my head has become so painful that when I take my clothes off or put them on, I try to think of ways to do it that do not involve too much arm raising. You do it more than you realize.
I am complaining. I am sorry. But, this is the life of a cancer fighter. One day, statistics say that you will either be like me or care for a loved one like me. So, be gentle. Be kind.
Understand when we snap at you.
Especially on lab days.
Comments
Post a Comment