Everytime I hear the phone, it's always ringing

On Monday evening, I went in for a breast MRI ordered to confirm if the chemotherapy is making any headway against the dastardly mutant ninja cells. I hated this test the first time it was done and was definitely not looking forward to it the second time around.  This particular MRI is incredibly difficult to go through and keep one’s dignity intact.  To get a full MRI of the area, I had to lay on my stomach with my mammaries hanging loose inside two empty cones.  This position makes me feel a certain kinship to a diary cow (minus the cud).

After getting situated just right, my body is then motored inside a tube for thirty solid minutes of whirring and clicking while the MRI machine takes photos.  The technician tells you it’s going to be thirty minutes, but there are no clocks or points of reference as to how long you’ve been inside this tube.  Intellectually, it doesn’t sound so bad.  Who can’t  lay still for thirty minutes? I certainly thought I was up to the task.  However, the machine gets hot, I get nervous and then feel nauseous.  The first time I made it for twenty minutes and was able to resume the MRI after cooling down.  Before I went on Monday, I explained to my oncologist that I didn’t tolerate this test very well.  She kindly prescribed a relaxant to help me make it through.  I actually went in with a positive moooooood.

As I positioned myself over the empty cones, I tried to keep the upbeat attitude.  The test started out okay. However, fifteen minutes into the test, the heat and subsequent nausea got to me.  The technician tried to get the test restarted, but my body just wasn’t going to cooperate. I hated giving up on something that seems like it should be so easy to complete.

Today, I got a call from my oncologist.  I was afraid she was going to fuss at me and offer to drug me further to get the test completed.  Instead, she apologized that I had such a difficult time with the test.  She went on to say that enough pictures were taken to show that the lymph node has shrunk half its size from the last photos!  The chemotherapy is doing its job!!! Waaahooooo!!!!

Today is a good day!

While in for my new cocktail infusion yesterday, the oncologist stated that I am extremely anemic, accounting for much of my fatigue.  Her recommended course is a blood transfusion.  She stated it didn’t have to be done immediately, but it would be necessary eventually.  Our son arrives today for a week long visit from Memphis.  When I explained the circumstances, she was happy to expedite the process and schedule the transfusion this morning.

Blood had to be drawn for typing. It was explained that the typing process takes two or more hours by the labs to process.  A plastic bracelet was placed on me and I was told if I took it off, the typing would have to be done again this morning and there would be a two hour delay getting the transfusion.  With all the medical wisdom I have in my brain, I asked a very pertinent question:  “I watch Grey’s Anatomy. When a hemorrhaging accident victim in their ER needs six pints of blood, Dr. Owen Hunt doesn’t wait two episodes for the lab work.”   It was explained that there is universal blood that can be given to emergency victims. There are a few people who are universal blood donors and they are constantly requested to give blood for emergency situations.  I learned something and I think these universal donors deserve a special place in heaven.

In my case, dozens of markers will be used to make a match (it’s not just blood type). I asked if, in the event I needed another future infusion, this would be the only typing necessary.  The answer was, “No, I will be typed before every single blood transfusion.” I find that interesting – wonder what in my body could change so drastically within the next two months.  That may be a question I’ll ask today.

I was then given a consent form and a Blood Transfusion and You brochure. This medical facility cracks me up with their brochures.  They have one ready for every occasion and all of them have happy people that look like they’d gladly choose their procedure any day over a trip to Disney Word.

Today is a good day!

Twenty four hours after every infusion, a shot is given to boost my white blood cell count.  Because I get the infusions on Friday, this necessitates a trip to a different, half-staffed department at the hospital on Saturday.  The first time I received this shot, I was taken to a private area in the back and offered a warm blanket.  For heaven’s sake, it’s only a shot – and it takes longer to park the car than to actually get the “little bee sting,”  so of course I turned down the blanket offer.

As the staff has gotten to know me, the process has been streamlined to where I’ve been asked if I mind just getting the shot in the department’s lobby. I’ve never thought much about this shot and the lobby has been private enough that I didn’t mind getting the little poke without the formality of going to the back.

As the insurance EOBs (explanation of benefits) have started rolling in, I’m starting to reconsider my easy-going attitude towards this short process.  Imagine my surprise when I saw that the hospital is billing insurance a whopping $4,335 for the little shot!  While insurance is discounting the hospital’s retail price down to $2600, I am still overwhelmed at the cost.  An all day chemotherapy treatment is not much more than the cost of this single injection.

Insurance is picking up the tab, so I probably shouldn’t get so emotionally invested in the cost of this medicine – but, honestly, I was blown away.  This Saturday, I am considering taking a huge shopping bag with me and demanding my warm blanket. When the nurse leaves to get the blanket, I can load up that bag with a life time supply of cotton balls, gauze and medical gloves.

Today is a good day!

In 1966, “Island of Terror,” a “B” grade horror movie, made a lasting impression upon me. The plot was about monsters that sucked mammals’ bones straight out of their bodies, leaving lifeless blobs in their wake.  That is how chemo has treated me this past week. I’ve been nothing but a worthless lump of flesh with a choice of two home bases to plop on – either the living room sofa or the bed. I wouldn’t be surprised to have Netflix call and ask if I have any kind of life.

I probably shouldn’t complain because there has been no other signs of  illness – just pure unadulterated lethargy. I would wake up with the intentions of doing the simplest of tasks like answering emails or taking a bath, but ended up putting those chores off until the next day. This started on Tuesday morning and last night (Sunday) I finally started feeling human.

At the last chemo treatment, my oncologist said that my red blood cell count is at half the numbers of what they would like to see. When she puts it that way, no wonder I was laying around like zombie woman this past week. She went on to explain that just as I get a shot to boost my white cell count, there is also a shot to boost the red blood cell count. Two years ago, I would have been given that shot as standard procedure. However, new studies have indicated that when the shot to boost red blood cells is administered, it also encourages the ninja cells to also grow.

My doctor said that at the next infusion treatment, she will order an iron study and I may end up getting a blood transfusion to boost the red cell count.  She asked if I had any problems with a transfusion and I told her that her job was to make me well and my job was simply to march. I asked her if iron poor blood was the issue, wouldn’t a bottle of Geritol help the situation. She indicated that she had heard of Geritol and that, no it wouldn’t help at all.  This week I had fantasies of taking some of that liquid gold advertised on the Ted Mack Original Amateur Hour and bouncing back just like the woman in this commercial -

Today is a good day!