Bananarama

Once you’ve been treated for Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma you are subsequently monitored for recurrence over the next five years.  The monitoring includes check-ins with the oncologist, as well as bloodwork and scans.  It’s been well over a year since my last scan of any kind – in fact I think the last one may have been late summer of 2012.

So a few weeks ago, I received in the mail appointments for bloodwork, a CT Scan, and a visit with the oncologist.  I went and had the bloodwork done on Monday and this morning I went for the Scan.  My previous scans have all been combo PET/CT scans.  They use a nuclear contrast and it’s a bit of a different process from just a CT (often referred to as “Cat” Scan).  Today I had to go for a C/P/A CT Scan.  When I got the appointment, I didn’t understand all the acronyms, but I have since learned that I was going for a pretty comprehensive CT Scan that included my chest/neck, pelvis, and abdomen. 

My appointment was for 8 AM and I thought I’d be out of there by 9 AM at the latest.  I was so very wrong.  First, I had to argue over insurance.  I have a pretty common brand of insurance, but my policy is out of California, not North Carolina (NC).  Because I live in NC though, it seems all the systems are set up for the local insurance so there is frequently back-and-forth about what is and isn’t covered.  The woman I had to meet with to check-in for my diagnostic was quite insistent that my procedures were only 80% covered and that the costs were also subject to the deductible.  I had actually called my insurance company yesterday to verify and I am certain it is covered 100% and that the deductible is waived.  But after much back-and-forth and no wavering on her part, I reluctantly paid the estimate so I could go ahead and get the scans.  I was already dreading the appointment and knew that if I put my foot down and rescheduled, I would drag my feet and not do what I know is important.

She then informed me that someone would be bringing me a smoothie that I needed to drink.  The smoothie helps make my insides show up better on the scan.  A barium banana smoothie.  Yum.  I headed back to the waiting room, and as promised out came a technician with a cold smoothie and a cup.  She poured half in the cup and told me to drink it.  And told me to drink the other half twenty minutes later.  I took one sip and began to gag.  I was already cranky and frustrated which put me in no mood to conquer the barium banana smoothie.  I closed my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.  I whispered to myself “I can do this.”  Nothing like trying to find your Zen in a waiting room at a medical facility.  I began to drink one swallow at a time.  I could not chug, but if I did one swallow at a time I could suppress the gag reflex.  I finally got through the first cup and by the second round was able to do it without gagging at all. 

By this time I had been there almost two hours, hadn’t had a bit of coffee, and needed to pee desperately.  Except I didn’t know if I was allowed to pee – being full of barium banana smoothie and all.  Finally someone retrieved me from the lobby and as we were walking back asked if I needed to use the restroom.  I was SO HAPPY to pee.  It’s the little things.

I wore my scan outfit (gym pants and T-shirt) so I didn’t have to put on a gown.  If you ever have a medical crisis, buy a good scan outfit!  Once in the scan room, I found out that not only did I have to drink the horrid banana barium smoothie, but that they would also be injecting some contrast for the non-abdominal parts.  Because it was actually multiple scans, I had two contrast injections and multiple passes of the scanner.  Finally, around 11 AM (THREE HOURS!) I was released to go home. 

I would like to say that after all I’ve been through that this process would not instill fear.  I have fought cancer and won.  I’ve had some minor scares (i.e., the tonsils!), but for the most part it’s been smooth sailing.  But the check-ins always makes me feel unsettled.  There are days, maybe even weeks when I don’t even think about cancer anymore.  And even then, it’s just a quick thought – not an all-consuming obsession. 

But today it was like running into someone you’ve been avoiding.  You try not to make eye contact and you try to pretend it’s no big deal and may even mutter something polite, but your heart is racing and you want to run away as fast as you can except you can’t because that isn’t the grown up thing to do.

For now I’ll try very hard to not think about it.  I’ll enjoy the weekend and spend time with the hubbie and the beagles.  And I’ll picture my oncologist saying those words I love to hear “Scans look fine.”  And I will avoid all things banana.    

 

Clarice

After today’s experience at radiation, I feel a bit like Hannibal Lecter.

Today was Part I of radiation set-up. I showed up to the Medical Center to find that they have designated parking spaces for the radiation oncology patients. Finally, a perk. Not only that, but I have the door code that allows me to come in through a locked entrance to the hospital. I was feeling pretty lucky at this point – I think they do this so that you show up with a good attitude. It is in their best interest.

Once checked in for my appointment, I was given MORE bad news. Apparently radiation set-up takes two separate appointments, and the second appointment will also be in the middle of the day later this week. It is as if I didn’t take the time to explain that I work in Charlotte and that midday appointments do not work for me.

Next the two radiation techs come out to greet me and to escort me to the CT Scan area. Part of the set-up process is to do positioning in the CT room. Once we arrived in the scan room, I had to undress (top half only) and remove my hair (wig)! I was given a sheet to cover up with, but felt awkward with my bald head. The awkwardness became less important after just a moment because they began to torture me.

Next, I was positioned on the CT table with my neck and head positioned on a plastic piece that forced me to look up and expose my neck. Me not moving during my radiation treatment seems to be extremely important. So important, that they take the time to create a custom mask to go over my face to keep me in position. The mask is a white plastic-type mesh that is warmed so that it becomes stretchy. As it cools, it holds the shape of my face. It is placed over my face and is attached to a board that is underneath my body on the CT table. It is very uncomfortable and awkward. I was tempted to say “Clarice, do you hear the screaming…?” But I decided to save that for a future visit. Oh, good news! I get to keep the mask when this is all done. Wow, the perks were coming out of the woodwork today.

Next they wanted to ensure that I held my shoulders as low as possible. So I was given a fabric-type rope to grasp with both hands, and then that rope was stretched down below my feet. It was extremely taunt and felt like some weird stretch they would have you do at the gym.

Finally, after much schoo-ching (this is apparently an official medical term used by radiation techs and gynecologists alike) and adjusting it was time for the scan. Except the scan table was acting up, so I had to get up, they had to figure out what was wrong, and then we did it all over again.

Once the scan was complete, the two technicians, the Radiation oncologist, and some other guy came and stood over my masked face and talked in what seemed like a foreign language for ten minutes, occasionally poking my sternum and my clavicle bones.

They only made one mark on me today. It’s a blue line right up the middle of my chest. Apparently I need to try not to wash it off between now and Wednesday. I don’t know exactly what we’ll be doing Wednesday, but if it’s as much fun as today I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain myself. I hear that there will be X-Rays and drawings on my body involved. Good times.

My actually radiation starts on Thursday. It will be at 3:30 each day, except for Friday. Apparently that is the only time slot they had available. Schedule-wise, that totally sucks. That means I’ll have to leave the office everyday by 2:15. And they close early on Friday. If they make it at 11:30 on Fridays, I will hurt somebody. I am totally annoyed. If this wasn’t something life-saving and important, I would totally bail.

So that was my day. Fun.