The lung nodule biopsy that I wasn't scared of? Shoulda been scared. It was yesterday, and it was pretty miserable.
I was told no food or water after 6am, and to be there at noon to check in and prep for a 1:30 procedure which should take about 30 minutes, and then I would be there for another four hours in recovery because they take two x-rays three hours apart to confirm that my lung wasn't leaking air into my chest cavity/collapsing (pneumothorax). As part of the procedure consent forms you have to sign a consent for a chest tube and overnight hospitalization in case you get a bad pneumothorax, which does happen in 40% of patients. Spoiler alert: I got a pneumothorax (that is really fun to type), which hurts like hell but I did not require a chest tube and did get to come home last night.
Sooooo. I got up at 5:15 to give myself enough time to eat breakfast and drink a whole bunch of water. We left home at 10:45 and checked in right at noon. One of the CT scanners broke and so of course there was a delay. They finally brought me in to start my procedure at 2:30. I was told to expect about 15 minutes of prep and then about 15 minutes with the needle actually in me.
They decided to go in through the front. I had to be awake for the procedure so I could follow commands as they moved me in and out of the scanner to position the needle correctly. They rolled me in there, got me on the table, set up the IV but didn't start anything other than saline, and then did an initial scan to locate the mass and choose their entry point. As that was happening I heard somebody say "oh shit" and a whole lot of commotion, but nobody came into the room for a while. The nodule was 1cm on the scan from 10/21. It was 7mm yesterday. I've had no chemo since 10/21, so yay! Not a tumor!
But the doc says that's a really small target and he's not sure it's worth the risk of pneumothorax because he's not confident he can hit it. So he called Dr. T, the oncologist, and she said she felt it's worth the risk because we need to know what it is before we knock my immune system down again with the AC and the other option is actual surgery. So he came back in to ask me and I chose to go ahead with it, because doing this wouldn't delay surgery if he couldn't get it, and I want to start AC as soon as possible. And I was already on the table and ready to go.
They went straight through my right breast at about 2:00 if you're facing me, and about three inches in from my sternum. They started with lidocaine and the longest needle I've ever seen in my life, and fentanyl and verced in an IV which was supposed to make me sleepy. HAHAHAHAHAHA. It did make me sleepy, and then they stabbed me in the chest which woke me right back up, real fast. I'm pretty sure I did a really good Uma Thurman impression there for a minute.
So then we spent about half an hour with the doc trying to position the needle, and then moving me into the scanner to see if it was close, and then moving me back out of the scanner so he could move the needle a little more, in and out, I have no idea how many times. And there's this red light thing on the top of the machine and I know the drugs were affecting me even though I was wide awake because I felt like he was feeding me to a Cylon and it was looking me right in the eye.
And then he told me he wanted to stop trying because it was just too small and it was moving every time I breathed and he was very very sorry. So I asked him if we could try it one last time with me holding my breath, and he humored me, and then seemed really surprised that I had the level of control that I did (thanks pilates!) and then we spent another 45 minutes doing it all again except slower and with me holding my breath in the machine and then trying to hold my breath in the exact same way out of the machine and the lidocaine was wearing off and the Cylon was eating me and he finally got the thing and it hurt so bad I couldn't stop crying. And I'm crying now, just typing it out.
They clearly were not prepared for the level of pain I was having. The worst part is that the way I (along with most people) try to calm down and deal with pain is to take deep breaths, and when breathing at all is excruciating that's not possible. Oh yeah, forgot to mention that they did this in the children's hospital because of that broken CT in the main hospital, so it was a 10 minute ride on the gurney back to recovery through a bunch of public parts of the hospital with me sobbing and Bob following behind carrying my purse and looking as worried as I've ever seen him. And then another 10 minutes in recovery to get some morphine into my IV.
First chest x-ray, small pneumothorax. I was still hurting so they gave me vicodin too. It dulled the pain a bit but didn't even begin to make me sleepy. Three hour wait. When they came back to check on me and I had gotten myself back together I asked the doc what the smallest he'd ever done was - and he said "hospital policy is nothing smaller than 8mm". Oh.
Second x-ray, the pneumothorax was exactly the same size, so they decided to let me go home. I took another Vicodin and we stopped at Umami Burger because it was 9pm and I was absolutely starving and while it still hurt to breathe deep the pain was under control. I am convinced of the healing powers of a Royale, poutine style. (That would be a hamburger patty served on a bed of fries, topped with a short rib, truffle cheese, and gravy.)
We still have the oxygen equipment here at the house so when we got home I took a percocet and went to bed with the oxygen turned on. Woke up and took another one at 2am, and another one at 6am, and then I've been OK since. It's just a dull ache now.
And then I went to the second plastic surgery consult and you'll have to read about that tomorrow because I am tired of typing. Also, first appointment with oncology at Alta Bates in the morning to talk about when I start chemo again.
I was told no food or water after 6am, and to be there at noon to check in and prep for a 1:30 procedure which should take about 30 minutes, and then I would be there for another four hours in recovery because they take two x-rays three hours apart to confirm that my lung wasn't leaking air into my chest cavity/collapsing (pneumothorax). As part of the procedure consent forms you have to sign a consent for a chest tube and overnight hospitalization in case you get a bad pneumothorax, which does happen in 40% of patients. Spoiler alert: I got a pneumothorax (that is really fun to type), which hurts like hell but I did not require a chest tube and did get to come home last night.
Sooooo. I got up at 5:15 to give myself enough time to eat breakfast and drink a whole bunch of water. We left home at 10:45 and checked in right at noon. One of the CT scanners broke and so of course there was a delay. They finally brought me in to start my procedure at 2:30. I was told to expect about 15 minutes of prep and then about 15 minutes with the needle actually in me.
They decided to go in through the front. I had to be awake for the procedure so I could follow commands as they moved me in and out of the scanner to position the needle correctly. They rolled me in there, got me on the table, set up the IV but didn't start anything other than saline, and then did an initial scan to locate the mass and choose their entry point. As that was happening I heard somebody say "oh shit" and a whole lot of commotion, but nobody came into the room for a while. The nodule was 1cm on the scan from 10/21. It was 7mm yesterday. I've had no chemo since 10/21, so yay! Not a tumor!
But the doc says that's a really small target and he's not sure it's worth the risk of pneumothorax because he's not confident he can hit it. So he called Dr. T, the oncologist, and she said she felt it's worth the risk because we need to know what it is before we knock my immune system down again with the AC and the other option is actual surgery. So he came back in to ask me and I chose to go ahead with it, because doing this wouldn't delay surgery if he couldn't get it, and I want to start AC as soon as possible. And I was already on the table and ready to go.
They went straight through my right breast at about 2:00 if you're facing me, and about three inches in from my sternum. They started with lidocaine and the longest needle I've ever seen in my life, and fentanyl and verced in an IV which was supposed to make me sleepy. HAHAHAHAHAHA. It did make me sleepy, and then they stabbed me in the chest which woke me right back up, real fast. I'm pretty sure I did a really good Uma Thurman impression there for a minute.
So then we spent about half an hour with the doc trying to position the needle, and then moving me into the scanner to see if it was close, and then moving me back out of the scanner so he could move the needle a little more, in and out, I have no idea how many times. And there's this red light thing on the top of the machine and I know the drugs were affecting me even though I was wide awake because I felt like he was feeding me to a Cylon and it was looking me right in the eye.
And then he told me he wanted to stop trying because it was just too small and it was moving every time I breathed and he was very very sorry. So I asked him if we could try it one last time with me holding my breath, and he humored me, and then seemed really surprised that I had the level of control that I did (thanks pilates!) and then we spent another 45 minutes doing it all again except slower and with me holding my breath in the machine and then trying to hold my breath in the exact same way out of the machine and the lidocaine was wearing off and the Cylon was eating me and he finally got the thing and it hurt so bad I couldn't stop crying. And I'm crying now, just typing it out.
They clearly were not prepared for the level of pain I was having. The worst part is that the way I (along with most people) try to calm down and deal with pain is to take deep breaths, and when breathing at all is excruciating that's not possible. Oh yeah, forgot to mention that they did this in the children's hospital because of that broken CT in the main hospital, so it was a 10 minute ride on the gurney back to recovery through a bunch of public parts of the hospital with me sobbing and Bob following behind carrying my purse and looking as worried as I've ever seen him. And then another 10 minutes in recovery to get some morphine into my IV.
First chest x-ray, small pneumothorax. I was still hurting so they gave me vicodin too. It dulled the pain a bit but didn't even begin to make me sleepy. Three hour wait. When they came back to check on me and I had gotten myself back together I asked the doc what the smallest he'd ever done was - and he said "hospital policy is nothing smaller than 8mm". Oh.
Second x-ray, the pneumothorax was exactly the same size, so they decided to let me go home. I took another Vicodin and we stopped at Umami Burger because it was 9pm and I was absolutely starving and while it still hurt to breathe deep the pain was under control. I am convinced of the healing powers of a Royale, poutine style. (That would be a hamburger patty served on a bed of fries, topped with a short rib, truffle cheese, and gravy.)
We still have the oxygen equipment here at the house so when we got home I took a percocet and went to bed with the oxygen turned on. Woke up and took another one at 2am, and another one at 6am, and then I've been OK since. It's just a dull ache now.
And then I went to the second plastic surgery consult and you'll have to read about that tomorrow because I am tired of typing. Also, first appointment with oncology at Alta Bates in the morning to talk about when I start chemo again.
Holy crap Sony!
ReplyDeleteHang in there lady...thinking of you often : ). Cass
ReplyDeleteHang in there Sonya, you're doing great. We're all thinking about you and sending good vibes your way.
ReplyDelete