In and out of the fire

My first month was filled with firsts. It is what brings that "fire hose" feeling as I anxiously experienced new medical procedures that seemed an every day occurrence to those around me.

After having left the hospital for home, an appointment was made for a full-body PET scan. Why the anxiety? Not only had I never experienced one of these scans but I was informed this would tell them whether I had cancerous cells or tumors in other parts of my body. Nothing to worry about, right?

On arrival for my scan, they pumped some kind of contrasting liquid into me so that I would glow like some kind of radioactive creature. I was placed into this "quiet room" on this gigantic, very uncomfortable chair. I felt like Alice in Wonderland after I had been shrunk from taking the magic potion.  

"Only 45minutes" they promised as they shut the door and darkness enveloped me. At that point I remembered that it was time for my pain meds which were starting to wear off but it was too late. I would have to wait until this was all over.

"Can I have a book to read?" I had asked, hopefully.

"Oh, no, that would stimulate the brain and we can't have that."

I tried very hard not to focus on the pain in my back and breathed a sigh of relief when they came to get me, limping, for the next phase. I was faced with this intimidating machine as the staff nonchalantly had me lie down on what I can only describe as a metal half-bucket.

PET scan

"You will be in this machine for another 45 minutes. Just remain still."

I looked at them incredulously because I knew the consequences of lying directly on my back on a hard surface for that long. However, I was obedient. Well, what else could I be?

By the time the machine stopped whirring it's way around my body for the next 45 minutes, the medical staff were ready to move on to the next patient, little realizing that they had a problem on their hands. I was literally paralyzed as I tried to crawl off that machine onto my feet. The staff member proffered me her hand to lean on but it was totally inadequate. Little did I realize at the time but the cancer had resulted in one of my lower vertebrae actually breaking, the cause of most of my pain as well as my paralysis at times. 

As they literally discharged me to the foyer outside the radiation area, I panicked. Alan had not been allowed to be with me for this procedure and had gone for a walk. I frantically texted him to come and save me because I couldn't move. He rushed to my side but we still needed to figure out how to get me back to Provo. He remembered a single sofa in the main foyer on the other side of the building and I rested as best I could until he got the car. We did make it home safely but it was certainly an agonizing trip.

MRI scan

The results of the PET scan turned out to be less scary than the procedure itself and I breathed a sigh of relief when they told me that they had discovered 100 lesions between my thighs and my breasts but no other cancer cells. (For lesions, read little holes in my bones i.e. swiss cheese as in my previous blog).

I learned a great deal from that experience. I learned that by sheer will power that I could overcome pain and remain very still if it was important. I also learned to think ahead and make sure I had taken my pain medications BEFORE I did the tests. I was given many more firsts: An MRI, a CAT scan, radiation treatment. I didn't know that there were so many machines that all looked so alike and have that same metal half bucket that became a familiar sight. Each told a different story and added to the information they were looking for in my treatment.  I kept telling myself that it was all going to be worth it. 

CAT scan (CT scan)

Out of the windows of the hospital I spied intrepid hikers taking to tracks all around the building and I began to mourn my loss, that I was one of those hikers only weeks earlier. How life can change on a dime!