Yesterday was a pretty busy day. It started with the biopsy of my right lymph node in my neck. Let's talk about this procedure. So, I knew going in that it was going to be fairly quick and that I would be awake for it, with a local anesthetic injected into my neck.
They floated the idea of possible sedation, but didn't think it would be necessary. With the idea of having a needle injected into my neck...I wasn't so sure. I told the lead (Rick) as much and his reply was (in a jovial and light-hearted manner) "Well, you're obviously no stranger to them." - referring to my full tattoo sleeves on both arms. Well played, Rick. Well played. And honestly, the needles (plural - there were two: one in the softer part of my neck and one in the muscle) didn't really hurt. It was quick and did the trick. As the procedure went on, I felt no pain. Lidocaine to the rescue! The way it worked was that Rick used ultrasound to see the lymph node and guide the "collection" needles into the abyss of my neck. As he explained to me beforehand, I would just feel some pressure from the needle as it went in and fished around in my lymph node. My head was turned to the left, where I had two choices: watch the ultrasound or close my eyes. "You watching?" Rick asked, as he navigated the second needle in for another sample. "As much as I'm not sure I want to," I replied, "yes, I'm watching." It was actually kind of neat. I could see the white line of the needle go in, plunge around, and then there'd be a very loud click (which Rick was nice enough to warn me about each time) as he triggered the "grab" of the collection needle to get its sample. He did that five times. All in all, the procedure was probably 20 minutes. Prep and intake was about 30 minutes. I left with a very sore neck and just a band-aid over the spot (which, after removing last night, still wanted to bleed!). The experience was not nearly as bad as I'd anticipated and Rick and the crew made it even less scary.
Jess and I had some time to kill before my afternoon appointment and so we stopped by a wonderful place called Wellspring to pick up a care package they'd prepared for me. Wellspring is an organization that caters to the emotional and mental wellbeing of the hospital's cancer patients. They have support groups, supplies for sale at a very affordable price (wigs, scarves, salves, hygiene stuff, etc.), reiki, meditation, massages, activities, counseling, and they even cut your hair there when you're ready! The care bag was so nice and packed with all kinds of goodies (all suggested as being helpful/useful by cancer patients). For example, it has a nice blanket for if you're getting treatments and you're cold, a port pillow to cover the port site when you put your seatbelt on, a cancer patient's healthy cookbook (I'll get there), a journal, lip balm, moisturizer, water bottle, lemonheads (to help with dryness of the mouth, nausea, and the metallic taste that chemo can sometimes cause), and more. It was so nice and as I type this, I'm tearing up and I don't even know why. I was showing everything to Jess last night when we finally had a chance to settle down at home and it brought me to tears. Again, I don't know why. The thoughtfulness? The reality of the situation?
We went to Panera's so Jess could get breakfast and I had a hot tea and was able to do a tube feed. We read for a bit. Then it was off to run a few errands, the kind we can't do back on the mountain. You know, those staples of civilization: Target, TJ Maxx.
We explored a thrift shop where I discovered the 8th Wonder of the World: the largest pair (there's only one, why is it a pair?) of men's tighty whitey underwear, for some inexplicable reason, hanging there, on a hangar, tagged and for sale. Will they ever be purchased? By whom? And why? And how much were they asking for the underwear? I did not want to touch them to check. They didn't even seem capable of any support anymore - I mean, look at them! Those are some stretched and sad saggy undies.
We went to an amazing used and collectible book store that we somehow had never discovered before (probably a good thing). Then, we went for a nice walk around a little pond at the hospital complex and checked out the amazing fitness center they have. They offer a cool 8-week program for cancer patients where you get a fitness instructor who creates a plan tailored to you (what you need, can do, limitations, etc.)! So, I'll be able to have a plan and instructor to help keep me active and to stay fit while Jess can also utilize the facility.
After that, it was back to oncology, where we met with the doctor who will be taking me through the radiation treatment process. We had a scary moment where we felt like he was going to tell us that he was not going to treat me. You see, the doctors have to make a call; they have to draw a line somewhere - like my surgeon saying that I was not a surgical candidate after the PET scan came back. If a doctor feels that certain treatments or decisions are just futile, that they're just not going to do anything for you at this point, they have to make a tough call. And the way the doctor was circling around to the treatment he was going to give me, it very much sounded like he was about to say that it was going to be off the table. We were squeezing each others hands - like white-knuckled squeeze. But it's all good - radiation treatments and chemotherapy. I have an appointment in about two weeks to get all set up for radiation and then treatments will start after that: every day, Monday - Friday.
Right now, I'm in good spirits and feeling more energized. The feeding tube is working and not as sore or limiting my mobility. Your support and words and cards and get-well gifts and jokes really empower me and remind me that Jess and I are not alone in this. It's really wonderful to have you all rallying around us. The weather is getting warmer and the days are longer and I know I have a long road ahead of me - but it is a road that has been traveled before, by others, and a road I know I can walk.
Peace and love to you all!
- j