Well, as the man once said, “it’s not one damn thing after another, it’s the same damn thing over and over.” In this past week, I have gone from being radioactive for a bone scan to a suspect for the metastatic. Could this be a rap song in it’s youth? And, as David Byrne once said, “well, how did I get here?”
Last week Y and I held court at University Imaging. Insurance wouldn’t pay for a PET scan, but they would pay for CT scans, so I got three (always best to buy in bulk if possible). As is our style, Y and I tried to find a way to make barium shots every 10 minutes for an hour fun. It wasn’t fair, though, as I was the only one drinking. She got to have delicious coffee named things like ‘Chocolate Mudslide.’ I believe mine was called ‘Bari-ly We Roll Along.’ Cute names on barium bottles are not helpful.
After I had enough barium shots, I was brought to the CT room. These rooms always look like the flight deck in the Millennium Falcon, but instead of Han Solo and a giant Wookie running the ship, you get some 12-year old girl with a pony tail who calls you ‘honey.’ or ‘doll’ instead of your proper title of, ‘Queen.’ After about 45 minutes worth of radiographic porn, I was allowed to leave. I dropped of Y and went to have lunch with my baby at school. I quickly left, however, when I realized my stomach was about to launch a war on my colon. I spent the next 36 hours between the bed and the bathroom. Now, I know there is a virus of some kind going around, so it could be that, but barium is not my toilet’s friend anymore and is not allowed in the house.
I accidentally got the results the next day from a urologist I will never see again. She said to me, “uh, you might want to get a bone scan…have a nice day…” and rushed me out, but not without honoring my request for the CT report. On it was the word anyone with a brush with the Guys in the White Van knows is bad, bad, bad, METASTATIC. Specifically, “…recommend nuclear bone scan to rule out metastatic osseous disease. To those of us who have been around, that means bone mets, or bone cancer, an advancement of a primary cancer, either my breast cancer or my melanoma. That is the opposite of good.
Instead of waiting all week to see my oncologist, I called the next morning. She called back with her superhero cape flapping in the background…she agreed with the bone scan suggestion, agreed urologist was an idiot for not at least explaining what’s going on, and used one of my favorite words for an oncologist–AGGRESSIVE.
What does aggressive mean to the lady with the superhero cape? It means my nuclear bone scan was conducted Wednesday to be followed with a followup on Thursday so I don’t have to stress so much. It means she listened to me and agreed my concerns were reasonable. Takes so much to be a cancer superhero.
Wednesday Y and I held court on a grand scale. I was the queen and even had royal transportation. Mike the Royal Golf Cart Attendant whisked Y and I between the Breast Care Center, where we started the morning with Dr. Kitty. Then, like a good Israeli taxi driver, he gave us his card and told us if we needed a ride–ANYWHERE IN THE HOSPITAL–to give him a call, he was ‘our guy.’ Having both experienced bad Israeli taxi drivers, Y and I were impressed with Mike and told him he could stay on our team. We organized our time after I became radioactive–we had two and a half hours to wait for the ‘uptake’ to occur. After a fantastic soup lunch at Abba’s Pizza, we hit a store for retail therapy. I wont give a shout out to this one, but will say I got a lovely pair of shoes appropriate for conducting interviews in Tel Aviv. Trendy, yet professional.
The road from radioactive to potentially metastatic was incredibly short, and I think that is the biggest shock of all. Yesterday the doctor with superpowers gave me the preliminary report of my NM bone scan–“abnormal uptake in the L2 vertebral body is suspicious for metastasis.” I was presented with two options, “wait, and see if it grows,” or stick a needle in it (her crazy, superhero way of saying get a biopsy.). I am not a fan of watching things grow in my body unless they are human, and barring a uterus and ovaries, I don’t see that kind of thing happening any time soon. Let’s get it biopsied and get it done now. We then discussed the ‘ovoid’ lymph node that sticks out under my chin. Cape doctor recommends again sticking a needle in it. Kind of like that Beyonce song, “If you can feel it than you’d better put a needle in it, whoa oh oh oh oh oh whoa oh oh oh oh!”
So here I sit once radioactive.
Then progressed to maybe metastatic.
I hope that this progressions stops.
Because I feel like my head will pop.