Wednesday, April 05, 2006
AAAAAAaaaaaa!!! Or: try not to pay attention to offhand things said by random people on tv.
Last tuesday the weight of everything that has been happening came crashing down in a crushing implosion of fear, doubt, panic, paranoia, and just plain terror. I recall watching a show wherein one of the people being interviewed made a random comment about her mom having lost her battle with breast cancer at age 45. Ordinarily I would not have associated myself with such a comment. I would have paused for a moment, thought to myself, "How sad. That must be difficult to deal with," and then moved on. This time I couldn't forget that maybe someday soon somebody will say that about me. Maybe they will speak of my "courage in the face of adversity," or some equally sentimental blather. Maybe they will be sad and choked up. I don't know.
What I do know is that my doctor had sent me to get a brain scan to see if I had any brain metastases, and I read earlier in the week a blog by somebody who had been suffering from brain mets and who was not doing well. "I'll bet you a hundred dollars now you don't have them," my doctor said, holding out his hand in a friendly wager.
I'm sorry, doctor, but I just don't believe such things anymore:
If somebody tells me not to worry, I don't think it's going to happen. So Tuesday evening I was all stressed and began crying uncontrollably. This is something I hate doing because a) it tends to be contagious, and I hate it when Brian gets upset and b) It's just plain embarrassing to be out of control like that. I also threw up again for the first time in at least a week; I thought I had gotten over that. So with the sobbing and the worrying about the future, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't heard any results of the test.
"Surely they'd have called immediately if there had been anything bad," Brian said. True, but my paranoia was not about to be derailed by logic. So I sobbed some more. I asked for kleenex and tried to keep the tears from dripping into my ears. My pillow got exceedlingly soggy, and then I couldn't sleep. I kept sitting bolt upright and getting up to do something, anything. To go to the bathroom. To brush my hair. To look for something or organize a drawer. To brush my teeth. Again. By the early hours of the morning I was an utter basket case. I couldn't stand to be touched and Brian wanted to stay home for the day. I went to get my palm pilot and cell phone so I could call Lita first thing for the results.
Brian did go off to work, and I called Lita's office and left a very shaky, paniced message. A couple of hours later, one of the other nurses called me back to say that Lita was in clinic all morning and had asked her to go through her messages. Anyway, the tests had come back and they showed everything was normal.
I thanked her in a very broken voice, hung up the phone, and sobbed hysterically. Normal! Thank god...Thank you for not being so cruel as to have me beat the odds this time. After more weeping and worrying about the future, I suddenly realized that I have a prescription for xanax which says, "take one three times daily as needed for anxiety." Brother, do I have anxiety.
So I've added some xanax to my regimen, although I break them in half now because they make me very sleepy. I might have to stop them until the next crying jag, which I hope will not be for a long time, and which will not be precipitated by something quite so scary as brain mets.
What I do know is that my doctor had sent me to get a brain scan to see if I had any brain metastases, and I read earlier in the week a blog by somebody who had been suffering from brain mets and who was not doing well. "I'll bet you a hundred dollars now you don't have them," my doctor said, holding out his hand in a friendly wager.
I'm sorry, doctor, but I just don't believe such things anymore:
- "Oh, it's probably nothing."
- "You're so young; you have nothing to worry about."
- "Nine times out of ten these things are harmless, especially in people with your history."
- "After surgery and chemo, you're clear. You don't have anything to worry about."
If somebody tells me not to worry, I don't think it's going to happen. So Tuesday evening I was all stressed and began crying uncontrollably. This is something I hate doing because a) it tends to be contagious, and I hate it when Brian gets upset and b) It's just plain embarrassing to be out of control like that. I also threw up again for the first time in at least a week; I thought I had gotten over that. So with the sobbing and the worrying about the future, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't heard any results of the test.
"Surely they'd have called immediately if there had been anything bad," Brian said. True, but my paranoia was not about to be derailed by logic. So I sobbed some more. I asked for kleenex and tried to keep the tears from dripping into my ears. My pillow got exceedlingly soggy, and then I couldn't sleep. I kept sitting bolt upright and getting up to do something, anything. To go to the bathroom. To brush my hair. To look for something or organize a drawer. To brush my teeth. Again. By the early hours of the morning I was an utter basket case. I couldn't stand to be touched and Brian wanted to stay home for the day. I went to get my palm pilot and cell phone so I could call Lita first thing for the results.
Brian did go off to work, and I called Lita's office and left a very shaky, paniced message. A couple of hours later, one of the other nurses called me back to say that Lita was in clinic all morning and had asked her to go through her messages. Anyway, the tests had come back and they showed everything was normal.
I thanked her in a very broken voice, hung up the phone, and sobbed hysterically. Normal! Thank god...Thank you for not being so cruel as to have me beat the odds this time. After more weeping and worrying about the future, I suddenly realized that I have a prescription for xanax which says, "take one three times daily as needed for anxiety." Brother, do I have anxiety.
So I've added some xanax to my regimen, although I break them in half now because they make me very sleepy. I might have to stop them until the next crying jag, which I hope will not be for a long time, and which will not be precipitated by something quite so scary as brain mets.
Labels: anxiety, brain scan, Brian, Lita, Xanax
