It is more important to know where you are going, than how long it takes to get there.



Monday, February 22, 2010

The Tests Begin...

Some people segment their lives as the time "before I was married," "after I was married" "before kids, " or "after kids." As of today, I can now add another marker in my life, the time "before cancer," and I am planning on having the marker "after cancer."


Two weeks ago I had a went for a routine visit because I felt a lump, and very big, golf ball sized lump. Assuming it was just another basic cyst, I was wrong - as they say never ass-u-me. The next day after a mammogram and ultrasound and biopsy, I was told that it looked "suspicious." "Suspicious" is a word that I will forever link to cancer. 6 days later I was told it the biopsy indicated cancer. The next day Chubba and I were sitting at the doctor's desk talking about radiation, chemotherapy, mastectomy, partial mastectomy, bone scans, MRI, CAT scans, Oncologist...


So today it all began - the tests. There are so many tests and appointments that I started getting more stressed about where and when my appointments were than I was about having Breast Cancer.

Today was the bone scan. I arrived at the hospital only to learn I get some radioactive shot and must return 3 hours later after it gets into my bones. Yes, freaky. The tech brought out the shot in a lead box, and the syringe was inside a lead sleeve. The shot felt just the same as any other shot, except that I was nuked. Now my skin has a nice glow to it, and you can see me in the dark.

Three hours later I returned for the scan. I layed on a table with this box 3 inches about my head that very slowly moved down the length of my body. It took 22 minutes, but it felt like the scan was above my head for 20 of the 22 minutes. By the way, who picked out the color for the bone scan room at Beverly Hospital. It was the sickest pale bluish/greenish color.


After the scan, they said they needed some x-rays. Whoa, no one said anything about x-rays. So I had two thoughts: 1. Something looks bad in the scan and they want a closer look. 2. They didn't see anything in the scan so they want a closer look just in case. Why did option number 1 pop in my head first? At least I thought of option 2. I try to be the glass half full, but somehow it a little tougher when you're being scanned for cancer. The first x-ray room had a broken table so we had to move to ominous room #1 - the tech said this was the room with the "big monster machine." What he meant was that the equipment was older, and way bigger. Again I ask, who picks out the paint color for the room?! It was a color is so non-descript that I'm sure it doesn't have a name. It looked like sick skin color - the color of someone's face just before they are about to throw up - you know tanish pale whitist. So intead of concentrating on not breathing while they are taking x-rays, all I could think about is that someone actually selected, and put some thought into the colors that were painted in the radiology department's room... to mention the wallpaper trim strip that came from a Holiday Inn room circa 1988.


So, I'm off and running with tests, and decor critiques.


Can't wait to see what tomorrow and the CAT Scan and Oncologist will bring.


8 comments:

  1. Deedle,

    Really appreciate you including me in this. I think you and I will have hit 2 milestones: the first serious illness, and the first divorce in our family. Just know that your in my thoughts and prayers, and that I love you very much. Keep the faith sister o' mine; even if it may be darkest before the dawn.

    Love,
    Roco

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  2. This is awesome, Deedle! Be sure to include pics of your glow in the dark body on tomorrows posting :-). We're continuing to think good thoughts for your week of prodding and poking.

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  3. And if cancer only knew who it was dealing with....kick it's ass, Deedle!

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  4. Holy Shit! I know you can beat this Keval. Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family. Keep us posted, I am curious to hear the color scheme for the next testing room. xoxo

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  5. Hey Keval, I'm thinking of you. None of this is fun, but it's eminently do-able and, yes, survivable. You're in my circle of light!

    Love,

    Laura

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  6. Keval,
    We continue to pray for your complete and speedy recovery. We will be available to help you in any way needed--kid rides, Keval rides, store runs, etc--while you beat this thing.
    By the way, your strong voice and rapier wit come through loud and clear in your blogging; perhaps yet another calling has presented itself?
    In any case, keep on writing while you're mending!
    Love, Bob & Robin

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  7. Bloody hell woman, you've managed to make me laugh and cry at the same time. Really sorry that you're one of the one in nine of us that will get this, but, in a strange way, looking forward to reading your blog about it!

    With our love and best wishes for a speedy recovery,
    All the way from London - Clare, Nick, Eric, Alfie and George xxx

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  8. Deedle, We love you and have you in our prayers. Keep your head high, You are such a strong person and will fight this with fists up. Will keep reading for updates
    Dan Tam, and girls

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