Testing... Testing... 1, 2, 3!

I was thinking about writing something very positive and slightly sappy today, and I almost did, but Vicki called me today to ask me a couple of questions about the tests I had. I figured today would be a good day to write about them while it's still fresh in my mind.

Yesterday and today were diagnostics days. In fact, I did have 3 tests (4 if you count blood being drawn for a genetics test). I'll write about them here so that everyone knows what's been done, and then if you ever have to get one of these yourself, you'll know what to expect.

On Monday, I had a contrast-dye MRI. Yeah, that kind of sucked. They had me lie face-down with my boobs in two holes (that was kind of comical!) and they gave me a set of headphones with the music channel of my choice (I picked Late Classic Rock). They also spoke to me through the headphones periodically to make sure I was doing okay. It was kind of funny the channel I picked. Every time I heard a song it seemed to fit my situation. I admit, I can't recall all the songs, but one of them was "Life Goes On" by John Mellencamp. The MRI was so loud that eventually I ended up tuning out everything I heard (including the music), so I can't remember much more than that.

A few minutes into the MRI they injected the contrast dye. This was pretty scary. The nurse, Jules, (who happily made me think of Jules that I used to work with :-) told me that I would feel kind of like hot flashes, and that if it got too bad and I wanted them to stop, there was a bulb I could squeeze. However, she reminded me that it would be difficult to still get this test in before my "big day" on Wednesday, so I should really try to get through it. I got through it alright, but I did kind of feel like the start of an asthma attack. I just thought of how disappointed all the doctors would be if they couldn't have the results of the MRI because I freaked out. Then I basically went to that happy place where nothing bad or scary gets in, and I was fine. The whole thing lasted about 20 minutes, or so I'm told. Luckily, I was face down and therefore had no hint of claustrophobia that I often hear when people talk about MRI.

Today was bone scan and CT scan. For the CT scan, I couldn't drink or eat past midnight. No breakfast. Rusty was so sweet - in sympathy, he didn't have anything to eat, either. Starting at 9:30 I had to drink a thick, sweet-tasting solution at half hour intervals before the scan. Not bad, really. Before the CT scan I needed to have an injection of radioactive solution for the bone scan (they were really good at coordinating all this). I could feel tingles in my veins when they put it in. eew. Then the CT scan. This test also had a contrast dye injection. Once again, the nurse warned me that it would be a warm feeling all over my body, and it would feel like I had to pee. This kind of scared me because I have an awfully little bladder, and I was concerned that I really would have to! Alas, there was no peeing my pants (thank God). The whole thing lasted about 3-5 minutes and the warm feeling went away rather quickly.

Next, we were able to go out to lunch because the bone scan was a couple of hours later. We went to a restaurant down the street. During lunch, I expressed sympathy for my Pepere when he had to go through all these tests for his treatment and diagnosis of bladder cancer (which subsequently spread to his bones). It's one thing for a 27 year-old girl to have be poked and prodded (4 needle sticks in 5 days) but I couldn't imagine him going through all this. My mom kind of went through a brief synopsis of my Pepere's treatment and it was really helpful to talk with her about the decisions he made and the treatment he had and all that stuff. It's hard to overstate how therapeutic it was for all of us to talk about it. My mom and I shared a hot fudge sundae after lunch (Rusty had a couple of bites). It's been so long since I've had a sundae. It was worth every calorie but I think I crashed really hard after the sugar rush (slept for over an hour), so I don't think I'll be doing that anymore :-)

Anyway... to the bone scan. For this test, I had to lay very still for several slooooow scans of my pelvis, head, and entire body. It was pretty easy and I could totally relax because it was quiet, painless, and lasted about 30-45 minutes.

The results of all of these tests will probably be reviewed tomorrow when I have a big day of meetings with all of the oncology specialists. Really only the MRI was intended to be diagnostic. It's possible they can use those results in determining the next course of care. The bone scan and the CT scan are intended to be used as a "baseline" to determine if the cancer has spread. According to my characteristics, there is a 50-60% chance that it has spread, but there's no way to tell just yet because it would be too small to detect. Later, they can run these same tests (ugh) and compare them with the tests I've had today to see if there are any changes.

I've got cancer, bitch!

She was nothing like all of the other nurses, doctors, and technicians that I've met so far. She was wearing earrings I would expect to find on a hooker and she had long fingernails (unsuitable for typing) and a bad attitude. She was one of the receptionists at the pediatric wing of the Benedict building. There was nobody in line, so we stepped up to the desk to check in for my appointment with the genetic counselor - we weren't late, but we were less early than I'd like to be for my 10:00 AM appointment.

Her: "Hmm, you're not in the system" (keep in mind, her tone of voice and pattern of speech was less-than-refined. I couldn't possibly do it justice in print)

Me: "Well, I know we made this appointment kind of late on Friday..."

Her: "You had a cancelled appointment at 8:45 this morning" (how helpful...)

Me: "Yeah."

Her: "And somethin' later this week"

Me: "Yeah, but I know I have an appointment with Dr. So-and-So this morning at 10:00 AM"

Her: "Well, I don't have nuthin' in our system. You gonna hafta step around the corner and talk to one of those ladies over there who can do some research". (seriously - did she think I was lying? What kind of "research" does this entail? Is someone going to write a term paper about what an idiot this woman was?)

There was no one else in line behind me, but somehow she couldn't deal with me and this mythical appointment that I must be lying about. So, we stepped "around the corner", faced with several ladies to choose from (it would have been nice for her to be more specific...). We stood in a line that shortly turned out to be the wrong line, and finally I arrived in front of another (thankfully, competent) receptionist who promptly took my information and found that I did, indeed, have an appointment with Dr. So-and-So at 10:00 AM. (Thank you!)

Ahh...

Later that day, Rusty and I were alone in the car and I immediately said something about that hooker-earring receptionist. I wasn't really upset about it. It's just that I'm the kind of person that enjoys dwelling on these bite-sized happenings - those snippets of life that just seem a little crazy, a little silly, a little ludicrous. The incompetence and the 'tude of the hooker-earring receptionist was just so appalling. When you deal daily with people who have cancer (especially little people - we were in the pediatric wing, after all!) I would expect a little more compassion. She was a stark contrast to the sweet and gentle nurse who took a small vial of blood for my genetic testing (so gentle I barely felt it - she truly has found her calling in the pediatric ward).

Anyway, once we were in the car I said to Rusty, "Man, I couldn't believe her attitude. Seriously, I mean, 'I have cancer, bitch!'" He laughed, and we proceeded to talk about how awesome every single person has been thus far. She just didn't belong in a pediatric cancer ward. We agreed that she was better suited for cleaning up someone's poop. :-)

As we were driving, we got stuck behind someone going about 50 MPH on the highway (I may be exaggerating - I do have a bit of a reputation as a leadfoot). As we passed her we both looked at her and I yelled (totally jokingly) "Get out of the way! I have cancer, bitch!" That provided another round of laughs.

So, I've decided that's going to be my new catchphrase. (When appropriate, of course.) It's much easier to say something silly and slightly profane in the face of insensitivity than to let it get to me.

The rest of the day was fairly hospital-y. I had a contrast-dye MRI (not something I'd recommend for passing the time on a Monday afternoon) and I met with a genetic counselor who's going to help me try to save my boob(s). I hope that works out. I'm kind of attached to them.

My mom also gave me the cutest bear:

In this picture, you can see one of my other bears (of the Grateful Dead variety) holding the new bear. The new bear is from the American Cancer Society and he has daffodils on his feet and he's holding a daffodil in his hands. It's one of those things that I think is so thoughtful and I'm not sure if my mom knows exactly how excited I was when I saw it. Sometimes you just need a thing. A thing to have and hold and bring with you to comfort you.

I decided he's going to come with me to all of my appointments. I was thinking about bringing my pink Grateful Dead bear (not the one pictured here - I have several). However, she's a little... um... obvious and oversized (but don't tell her I said that). I may be on the young side for breast cancer, but it is a little silly for a 27 year-old to be carrying around a big ol' pink bear. The Daffodil Bear is just the right size to tuck in my bag and he's really soft.

Anyway, tomorrow is my bone scan and CT scan. Looking forward to not being able to eat or drink anything from midnight 'till 11 AM. Ugh.