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.