Whenever I have to undergo something intensely unpleasant, I go to my happy place. It's like meditation - I just envision a grassy little place under a tree. It's where I go when I'm doing the plank (if you don't know what that is you need to work out more), when I'm stuck in an interminable meeting from which there is no reasonable escape, when I'm caught waiting anywhere and I've forgotten to bring a good book to read, and when I'm undergoing some form of unpleasant, invasive medical procedure. This shouldn't be difficult really. I won't even really be present for it.
They've had a last minute cancellation so I get a call on Wednesday morning (September 28) asking if I'd like to have a biopsy at noon. "Like" is not a term that I'm associating with this, I think about it knowing that I'm not really prepared for this, but really, what am I waiting for? Better to get it done and over with - so I say sure, I'd love to.
Off I go to a building attached to the civic hospital. I am not encouraged by the fact that they young lady on the phone can't really tell me where I'm going - but I have no doubt I can figure that out. Being penis-less, I can always ask for directions.
I arrive on time at the right place (fortunately the buildings have their names written in giant letters on the front - who knew?). The lady at the desk is very pleasant and we make each other laugh. What a great start.
I am soon called into the back by the nurse where I'm given yet another glorious paper gown to wear. I sit with four other women in another tiny waiting area. I am soon called by the same nurse into The Room. She explains to me basically what is going to happen. It will be an ultra-sound guided biopsy. She does the first US look and tells me that in addition to the big lump that is causing all the fuss, I have another cyst. Joy. No idea whether this is good, bad or neutral.
The nurse explains that, as a teaching hospital, I will be seen by a fifth year resident as well as the doctor. No problem. With a sister as a doctor I understand the need to learn on realy people. I can't tell you the number of times I had my reflexes checked by my sister. I think I may still have a small scar or two from her practicing as well!
In comes the resident and explains again what will happen and I sign the consent (without reading it of course. What would be the point?) I then explain to the two of them that I'm going to put on my iPod and go to my happy place. No need to explain anything else, just do what you need to do and get it over with. I don't need to know as I have zero medical knowledge and I'm not really a participant in the process - I'm just the practice dummy. I put on my earphones, close my eyes and merrily ease off to my happy place.
I soon can feel little burning pricks as the freezing begins. I can hear murmurs in the background. I have no idea whether they are speaking to one another or to me. I don't care, I'm almost asleep. The incision is made. My eyes fly open - "NOT FROZEN!" I don't know whether I yelled this. It's very difficult to tell how loud one is speaking while blaring CCR on the iPod. The resident looks at me with big eyes. "Oh. We'll give you more freezing." I go back to my happy place. More little burns.
They take the first core sample. As far as I can tell, this is done by "shooting" a long hollow tube through the incision and into the tumour. It retracts with a core sample of the tumour inside it. My eyes fly open once again - "NOT FROZEN!" The resident now looks mildly concerned. "Is it really pain you feel or just a slight burning?" Seriously? I can't believe this guy is asking me this. I've had two children without drugs. I know pain. I indicate my willingness to share this pain with him. He turns to the nurse and merely says, "Go get the doctor". Holy Moly!
The doctor shows up and she calmly explains to him that he needs to freeze on the other side too. Hello!!! Shouldn't they have reviewed this prior to the procedure or something? They proceed, I am blissfully frozen, I feel nothing but some pressure for the rest. The resident makes a hasty exit as soon as he's done.
The nurse then explains that the MRI (scheduled for October 9) might indicate a need for a further biopsy, but I'm not to worry if that happens. She manages this with a straight face as if this procedure has gone off without a hitch. Often MRIs give false positives apparently so a need for more biopsy is not necessarily catastrophic news. Well, if I do have to go back, it will be a resident-less procedure!
I am now the most unnatural shades of greens and purples. I took a photo but I won't post it. It's for the lawsuit:)
OMG Donna, I miss you so much after reading this post. I remember all of the jokes regarding being "penis-less" and therefore asking for directions; I remember the 2 kids born without meds; you write as you speak and I miss you so...
ReplyDeleteMy sister-in-law is named Donna and each time I talk about Donna, my parents automatically think I am referring to you. Dad, being Dad, refers to you now as "Donna Ottawa" and to my sister-in-law as "Donna New York". (Does that mean I am Diana Boston?) Anyway, when I told them that you're going through this, my father automatically said, "please don't tell me it is Donna Ottawa...please.." and instantly added, "oh...and please don't tell me it is Donna New York either!" I had to explain it was Donna Ottawa and he paused, said, "Please tell her we love her."