Remember that scene in Pulp Fiction when John Travolta stabs a giant needle into Uma Thurman’s sternum? Me and Uma? We have something in common.
Today was a day of poking and prodding (P&P). I’ve read that I must get used to this. My first appointment in my day of P&P was to get a second FNA biopsy. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s a quick needle biopsy performed directly on the tumor. My surgeon said that they needed better samples, and that if he didn’t get two really good ones, that he would need to get three or four. I told him “well then, get two good ones.” The good news is that he was successful and only had to get two. The bad news is that I get to spend another two weeks looking like the victim of domestic violence. The last FNA left me terribly bruised – so much so that the bruise hadn’t fully healed two weeks later.
Immediately after the FNA, we headed to the oncology center. I need to comment on their lovely lobby. It had a beautiful vaulted wood ceiling and an enclosure filled with beautiful brightly colored birds. Did it make me feel better? Not really. But I must admit it was a nice distraction.
My next round of P&P began shortly after we arrived. The nurse took my vitals which included about six tubes of blood. Robbie said I deserved a cookie. My blood pressure was a little high, but considering I can’t breathe and I’m at an oncology center I wasn’t too surprised. Next we meet with my oncologist. He basically spent our time together asking questions about my medical history and how this whole thing developed. We asked a few questions as well. At this point, he believes I have non-hodgkins large B cell lymphoma. I just looked this up online and it said “responds well to treatment.” By golly, at least that is a positive thing. He of course, wants to run a battery of tests, but said most likely we’d treat with chemotherapy in three week courses. As he was leaving the room he said he would talk to the person that would help to get some tests arranged including a bone-marrow biopsy.
A lovely nurse came in and asked me to follow her. She took me in another room and told me we’d be doing the bone marrow test RIGHT NOW. I hate to admit this, but I totally freaked out. I had read online that these were extremely painful and it was the one thing I’ve dreaded most in everything I read. Take my hair, BUT DON’T HURT ME. I asked Robbie to leave the room, which totally hurt his feelings. I didn’t want him to see me weak and freaking out. I told her that I read online that it was very painful and very difficult in overweight patients. She said I need to throw the computer away and that it would be fine.
Eventually I calmed down and the oncologist came in to perform the procedure. Unfortunately, I have some serious love handles and he didn’t feel comfortable that he could hit the right spot in my back. He said we had one other option. The sternum. He said that this procedure would be “uncomfortable”. Really? He prepped everything and numbed the area. Once numb, I could feel the pressure of him tapping on my bone, but at that point there was no pain. That was before they started sucking the marrow. I cannot even describe how “uncomfortable” it was. It is the worst feeling I can imagine and I can’t even describe it, but the good news is that it only last about 3 or 4 seconds. Twice. But then it was over, and he said he got enough material so I was relieved.
My future brings a PET Scan on Monday to determine if the cancer has spread. Wednesday I have a heart Ultrasound which is routine before starting chemotherapy, and the following Monday I meet with the oncologist again. At that point he will have all the test results and we will begin our attack. He also gave me some steroids to help me with my breathing. I just took one, and I really hope it will help me breathe better. I have holiday cookies to bake by Monday for our Annual Cookie for Clients Event!
I am glad that all the tests are scheduled and that soon we’ll have all the information necessary to start fighting this. I feel tired and I wish that the big jab in the chest would’ve been adrenaline like Uma was lucky enough to receive. But at least I’m a step closer to a resolution.
Thanks to Vicky and Alan for the post-biopsy wine. You guys rock.
Showing posts with label FNA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label FNA. Show all posts
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Numb. Jab. Repeat.
I had a great showing at this afternoon’s tumor board. It was so fabulous that they want more.
My favorite surgeon called this afternoon to let me know that my case was presented, and that my oncologist was part of the review team. In an effort to have some sort of bedside manner, he said that the oncologist was looking forward to meeting me later this week. Then he broke the news that they need to perform another FNA biopsy. On the original pathology report, it was suggested that they may want to perform an additional test for more definitive information – not to the fact that I have cancer, but in classifying what kind. The FNA isn’t too big of deal. It’s a little painful and causes some serious neck bruising, but the good news is that it’s over in about a half an hour. I have it scheduled for Friday, since I already had to take time off for the oncology appointment.
Determining the type of cancer is critically important to determining my treatment. There are two categories of lymphoma, and tens of sub-types. It’s been difficult for me to research the disease just in the fact that I don’t know exactly what I have. The pathology said it was “large cell lymphoma”, but didn’t specify if it was T-Cell, B-Cell, Hodgkins, Non-Hodgkins, etc.
The oncologist also wants me scheduled for a PET scan. I completed expected this. This is a high-tech CT type scan that is performed with contrast. Some sort of contrast is ingested, and then I will have to sit or lie very still for a while. The contrast is attracted to highly active cells – i.e., cancer cells. We’re hoping the cancer is just camping out in my neck and hasn’t decided to go exploring. The PET scan will be Monday. Apparently, this can take a couple of hours so there goes another day wasted!
I need to get over the fact that I’ll be taking some serious time off. And luckily my workplace has been very gracious in trying to find ways to make the whole balancing work and cancer concept a bit easier. They’ve lined up someone to cover my work duties for whatever time I need to take off. The great news is they couldn’t have assigned a better person. She is someone I consider a mentor and a marketing guru, and if I was given a choice of any person within the company to take this on she would have been first on the list.
Each time I write this blog, I think to myself that maybe I don’t need to give the world a play-by-play. But it’s really more for me to work through my own feelings. I don’t know if it’s like this with everyone, but when you are diagnosed with cancer it becomes all you can think about. I don’t think I go five minutes without thinking about it. And part of it is that cancer creeps into every aspect of your life. At this time of year, I have a calendar full of holiday parties, the annual Hickory Wine Shoppe champagne tasting, cutting down a Christmas tree, house hunting with my Mom, etc. And every time I think of one of these things, I have to wonder “Will I be on chemotherapy by then? If so, will I be well enough to do it? Will I have lost my hair by then?” I even think further ahead to the vacation we have scheduled in May and wonder if we’ll even get to go.
I am anxious to talk with other cancer patients to find out if this type of thinking eventually wanes and if there is a new normal that develops to help one cope with the uncertainty.
My favorite surgeon called this afternoon to let me know that my case was presented, and that my oncologist was part of the review team. In an effort to have some sort of bedside manner, he said that the oncologist was looking forward to meeting me later this week. Then he broke the news that they need to perform another FNA biopsy. On the original pathology report, it was suggested that they may want to perform an additional test for more definitive information – not to the fact that I have cancer, but in classifying what kind. The FNA isn’t too big of deal. It’s a little painful and causes some serious neck bruising, but the good news is that it’s over in about a half an hour. I have it scheduled for Friday, since I already had to take time off for the oncology appointment.
Determining the type of cancer is critically important to determining my treatment. There are two categories of lymphoma, and tens of sub-types. It’s been difficult for me to research the disease just in the fact that I don’t know exactly what I have. The pathology said it was “large cell lymphoma”, but didn’t specify if it was T-Cell, B-Cell, Hodgkins, Non-Hodgkins, etc.
The oncologist also wants me scheduled for a PET scan. I completed expected this. This is a high-tech CT type scan that is performed with contrast. Some sort of contrast is ingested, and then I will have to sit or lie very still for a while. The contrast is attracted to highly active cells – i.e., cancer cells. We’re hoping the cancer is just camping out in my neck and hasn’t decided to go exploring. The PET scan will be Monday. Apparently, this can take a couple of hours so there goes another day wasted!
I need to get over the fact that I’ll be taking some serious time off. And luckily my workplace has been very gracious in trying to find ways to make the whole balancing work and cancer concept a bit easier. They’ve lined up someone to cover my work duties for whatever time I need to take off. The great news is they couldn’t have assigned a better person. She is someone I consider a mentor and a marketing guru, and if I was given a choice of any person within the company to take this on she would have been first on the list.
Each time I write this blog, I think to myself that maybe I don’t need to give the world a play-by-play. But it’s really more for me to work through my own feelings. I don’t know if it’s like this with everyone, but when you are diagnosed with cancer it becomes all you can think about. I don’t think I go five minutes without thinking about it. And part of it is that cancer creeps into every aspect of your life. At this time of year, I have a calendar full of holiday parties, the annual Hickory Wine Shoppe champagne tasting, cutting down a Christmas tree, house hunting with my Mom, etc. And every time I think of one of these things, I have to wonder “Will I be on chemotherapy by then? If so, will I be well enough to do it? Will I have lost my hair by then?” I even think further ahead to the vacation we have scheduled in May and wonder if we’ll even get to go.
I am anxious to talk with other cancer patients to find out if this type of thinking eventually wanes and if there is a new normal that develops to help one cope with the uncertainty.
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