Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Not Morg or Imorg
Today I feel like my own brain has been swiped.
I needed to have an MRI of my lower spine. In light of one of my complaints to Lita, she consulted with Dr. Hayes and wondered if there might be irritation of the nerve bundles in my lower spine, which has quite a bit of metastatic damage. Apparently, "irritated nerve bundles" can cause wacky symptoms that don't seem to have anything to do with the back. So U of M scheduled me for an MRI on October 10.
At 2:40 a.m.
That is not a typo.
Brian and I slogged out of bed and to the car at 1:45ish, and we got there slightly before 2:30. We weren't sure if we were supposed to park in the structure or use the ER parking valet, or what. We parked in what is the most poorly arranged parking structure ever, and then walked the loooong walk to the east elevators.
Having an MRI involves contrast dye, which the technician said was water soluble. I asked if they could inject it through a port, since it wasn't iodine contrast. "Yes," she said, "Is your port accessed? I don't have a nurse here at night so we can't access ports."
Great. So because of the asinine scheduling, I had to endure being stabbed three times, once in the crook of the arm (vein was too deep) and twice in the leathery scar-laden veins on my hand. People always think my hand veins are going to be good. They are mistaken.
We got home at five. I got up at eight to come to work. I am cranky and disoriented; a bad combination. I have bags.
Grrr.
I needed to have an MRI of my lower spine. In light of one of my complaints to Lita, she consulted with Dr. Hayes and wondered if there might be irritation of the nerve bundles in my lower spine, which has quite a bit of metastatic damage. Apparently, "irritated nerve bundles" can cause wacky symptoms that don't seem to have anything to do with the back. So U of M scheduled me for an MRI on October 10.
At 2:40 a.m.
That is not a typo.
Brian and I slogged out of bed and to the car at 1:45ish, and we got there slightly before 2:30. We weren't sure if we were supposed to park in the structure or use the ER parking valet, or what. We parked in what is the most poorly arranged parking structure ever, and then walked the loooong walk to the east elevators.
Having an MRI involves contrast dye, which the technician said was water soluble. I asked if they could inject it through a port, since it wasn't iodine contrast. "Yes," she said, "Is your port accessed? I don't have a nurse here at night so we can't access ports."
Great. So because of the asinine scheduling, I had to endure being stabbed three times, once in the crook of the arm (vein was too deep) and twice in the leathery scar-laden veins on my hand. People always think my hand veins are going to be good. They are mistaken.
We got home at five. I got up at eight to come to work. I am cranky and disoriented; a bad combination. I have bags.
Grrr.
Labels: Brian, Dr. Hayes, hospital, injection, Lita, MRI, port
Friday, March 30, 2007
Impending Scans and a Departure
Blood test results show one tumor marker down (yay!), one blipped up somewhat (boo!) and my liver function tests show some results that are of enough concern to warrant a new battery of scans, including a bone scan and the ever-popular Barium Barrage, or "CT with contrast" (%$#@!).
I contacted Lita to find out about getting a "power port" but changed my mind when speaking to the scheduling people, who indicated that a power port has to go in the chest and cannot be placed in the arm.
For now I am going to have to live with the agonizing jabby-jab-jab of IV placement for the contrast dye.
Also, I absolutely must resume the Neupogen shots, which are for the purpose of boosting white blood cell counts and feeling like one is being stung by a bee without having to go outside or risk exposure to pollen. And a significant portion of my remaining twelve hairs have decided to shuffle off the mortal coil that is my head.
I contacted Lita to find out about getting a "power port" but changed my mind when speaking to the scheduling people, who indicated that a power port has to go in the chest and cannot be placed in the arm.
For now I am going to have to live with the agonizing jabby-jab-jab of IV placement for the contrast dye.
Also, I absolutely must resume the Neupogen shots, which are for the purpose of boosting white blood cell counts and feeling like one is being stung by a bee without having to go outside or risk exposure to pollen. And a significant portion of my remaining twelve hairs have decided to shuffle off the mortal coil that is my head.
Labels: baldness, barium, blood tests, bone scan, CT scan, hair, IV, Lita, Neupogen, port, tumor marker
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Well, f#$%.
My day lasted considerably longer than I wanted to and took a radically unexpected turn. I got to the Radiology department at 9:06 a.m. (only six minutes late), and got prepared to have a port installed to make the monthly infusions more bearable. I had anxiety about the port placement. Where would it be? Would it be very painful and awful? What would it be like afterwards? I was assured that the procedure would go smoothly, that people tend to not suffer much discomfort during the placement, and that I could discuss where it would be placed with the person doing the procedure and things would turn out ok.
I actually didn't feel much of the procedure at all. After giving me the sedative, the people in the room kept asking me questions about where I lived, and did I know about Holiday Market, and was I near the new Ikea? I remember that the local anesthetic shots stung quite a bit, and then I don't remember anything else until being wheeled into recovery. This was several hours later than expected, since there were two people who needed emergency procedures before I was even able to go in. So my mom had lunch while I was out of commission, and I had to get dressed and get to my other appointments. There was a wheelchair for me. I got in the wheelchair (which got us special privileges at Wendy's in the hospital) and had my first food of the day: nuggets and a small frosty. I looked at the tiny cup dolefully.
"If I had known the small was going to be that small, I would have opted for a medium."
Then I went to make my next appointment; the infusion that was scheduled at 2. I had totally missed my appointment with Dr. Hayes, but could make this one. As I was getting weighed in, I heard people in the waiting area calling a name I'm hardly used to: "Janet Elkins? Janet ELkins! Janet ELKINS?" I identified myself, and it turns out it was highly important to see the doctor before going in to have the infusion. There was a delay there as the four people at the check in desk neatly failed to help the line of people waiting and depended instead on the trainee being helped to do it. Every conversational remark she made to somebody ahead of me I begrudged. How dare she take time to trade pleasantries when there are people waiting? Grrrr...
Finally I got in to the docor's office and waited. And waited. And waited. My mom called Brian, who then took over the job of waiting with me. And we waited. Finally, Lita came in and had news to report which made it clear why seeing the doctor before going in to the infusion would be important. "While it certainly did at first," she said, "it looks like for whatever reason the hormonal treatment isn't working anymore." We would have to switch to another therapy. So today I started chemotherapy for the second time, which I have already prayed in this blog I would never have to do again, god willing.
God is apparently not very willing.
I finally got home at 10 p.m. Brian is eating ice cream. I'm typing in my blog with a very bruised arm covered with green...antiseptic, I think it is. My face is puffy from something. A side effect of the infusions? I didn't start weeping until after my left eye was already partially swollen shut so I don't know what's going on there.
My day was very long and this was an unpleasant surprise.
I actually didn't feel much of the procedure at all. After giving me the sedative, the people in the room kept asking me questions about where I lived, and did I know about Holiday Market, and was I near the new Ikea? I remember that the local anesthetic shots stung quite a bit, and then I don't remember anything else until being wheeled into recovery. This was several hours later than expected, since there were two people who needed emergency procedures before I was even able to go in. So my mom had lunch while I was out of commission, and I had to get dressed and get to my other appointments. There was a wheelchair for me. I got in the wheelchair (which got us special privileges at Wendy's in the hospital) and had my first food of the day: nuggets and a small frosty. I looked at the tiny cup dolefully.
"If I had known the small was going to be that small, I would have opted for a medium."
Then I went to make my next appointment; the infusion that was scheduled at 2. I had totally missed my appointment with Dr. Hayes, but could make this one. As I was getting weighed in, I heard people in the waiting area calling a name I'm hardly used to: "Janet Elkins? Janet ELkins! Janet ELKINS?" I identified myself, and it turns out it was highly important to see the doctor before going in to have the infusion. There was a delay there as the four people at the check in desk neatly failed to help the line of people waiting and depended instead on the trainee being helped to do it. Every conversational remark she made to somebody ahead of me I begrudged. How dare she take time to trade pleasantries when there are people waiting? Grrrr...
Finally I got in to the docor's office and waited. And waited. And waited. My mom called Brian, who then took over the job of waiting with me. And we waited. Finally, Lita came in and had news to report which made it clear why seeing the doctor before going in to the infusion would be important. "While it certainly did at first," she said, "it looks like for whatever reason the hormonal treatment isn't working anymore." We would have to switch to another therapy. So today I started chemotherapy for the second time, which I have already prayed in this blog I would never have to do again, god willing.
God is apparently not very willing.
I finally got home at 10 p.m. Brian is eating ice cream. I'm typing in my blog with a very bruised arm covered with green...antiseptic, I think it is. My face is puffy from something. A side effect of the infusions? I didn't start weeping until after my left eye was already partially swollen shut so I don't know what's going on there.
My day was very long and this was an unpleasant surprise.
Labels: Brian, chemo, Dr. Hayes, hormone therapy, infusion, Lita, mom, port, surgery
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Do the Borg eat ice cream?
This week I will be undergoing a new spate of tests including multiple CT scans and a comprehensive bone scan. This is actually good news: it is Dr. Hayes' opinion that since I am doing so much better now than I was in November when he first saw me, and he wants a new set of baseline tests.
Since I was doing so much better, I asked about whether or not it would be advisable to ride a motorcycle. I wanted to know specifically if the shaking engine would cause my pelvis to fall apart or if I might be ok given smooth roads and a careful rider at the controls.
His face contorted. "Weeeeeell," he said, "I don't want to tell you not to do it if it's something you really feel you want to do, but I'm a doctor and the consequences for you if the bike goes down are really bad."
We regarded each other.
"I won't tell you no, but all I'm saying is if you do, I don't want to know about it," he blurted.
I have since ridden behind Brian on his motorcycle twice, using the helmet that was specifically bought for me and which I'm pretty sure Brian won't want to use (due to the fact that it is pink). I am not graceful getting on and climbing off, but we are working on that and I'm sure I'll get better at it given practice.
Anyway, I have a spate of tests tomorrow, and next week will have a port inserted that will make it easier to draw blood and do the monthly infusion. I hate having an i.v. inserted almost more than anything. They have such difficulty getting the i.v. in the veins in my right arm/hand that when I have to have it done, it takes multiple tries, and is torturously painful. A port should make things easier, but getting the port inserted is some kind of surgery, and I'm nervous about it. Will they knock me out? I tend to react poorly to anesthesia. Will they try to sedate me but keep me conscious? That didn't work AT ALL during my liver biopsy, and the fentanyl patches might interfere with the kind of medication they want to use for that. I'm also slightly freaked out about having a tube in my arm at all times. It seems inhuman to have tubes and things winding their way around the interior of my body. Borg have tubes on the outside, but I can't help feeling that the process has begun.
After having my biological and technological distinctiveness added to the collective, I will immediately get to test out the new port by having my monthly infusion, because by that time they just won't have tortured me enough for one day. Then of course comes the monthly shot in the stomach, the one that renders me menopausal and is the cause of the hot flashes I've been suffering with some increase in frequency.
On the other hand, my acne has finally gone away. It could be my new skin care regimen, but it's probably the hormone therapy. My nausea also seems to finally be under control, although I have not regained my appetite for anything but sweets.
We are Borg; We demand your ice cream and leftover Easter candy.
Since I was doing so much better, I asked about whether or not it would be advisable to ride a motorcycle. I wanted to know specifically if the shaking engine would cause my pelvis to fall apart or if I might be ok given smooth roads and a careful rider at the controls.
His face contorted. "Weeeeeell," he said, "I don't want to tell you not to do it if it's something you really feel you want to do, but I'm a doctor and the consequences for you if the bike goes down are really bad."
We regarded each other.
"I won't tell you no, but all I'm saying is if you do, I don't want to know about it," he blurted.
I have since ridden behind Brian on his motorcycle twice, using the helmet that was specifically bought for me and which I'm pretty sure Brian won't want to use (due to the fact that it is pink). I am not graceful getting on and climbing off, but we are working on that and I'm sure I'll get better at it given practice.
Anyway, I have a spate of tests tomorrow, and next week will have a port inserted that will make it easier to draw blood and do the monthly infusion. I hate having an i.v. inserted almost more than anything. They have such difficulty getting the i.v. in the veins in my right arm/hand that when I have to have it done, it takes multiple tries, and is torturously painful. A port should make things easier, but getting the port inserted is some kind of surgery, and I'm nervous about it. Will they knock me out? I tend to react poorly to anesthesia. Will they try to sedate me but keep me conscious? That didn't work AT ALL during my liver biopsy, and the fentanyl patches might interfere with the kind of medication they want to use for that. I'm also slightly freaked out about having a tube in my arm at all times. It seems inhuman to have tubes and things winding their way around the interior of my body. Borg have tubes on the outside, but I can't help feeling that the process has begun.
After having my biological and technological distinctiveness added to the collective, I will immediately get to test out the new port by having my monthly infusion, because by that time they just won't have tortured me enough for one day. Then of course comes the monthly shot in the stomach, the one that renders me menopausal and is the cause of the hot flashes I've been suffering with some increase in frequency.
On the other hand, my acne has finally gone away. It could be my new skin care regimen, but it's probably the hormone therapy. My nausea also seems to finally be under control, although I have not regained my appetite for anything but sweets.
We are Borg; We demand your ice cream and leftover Easter candy.
Labels: bone scan, Brian, CT scan, Dr. Hayes, fentanyl, hormone therapy, hot flash, IV, liver, motorcycle, nausea, port, star trek
