I cannot begin to tell you how bad the
whole experience was. You each know I have been through so much in
the 14 months since I was initially diagnosed with cancer. I mean,
CAT scans, whole-body X-rays, MRIs, the test where they put a camera
down your throat and into you stomach, or someplace nearby, I don't
even remember. I've had bone marrow biopsies; note, I said “ies,”
not “y,” biops-ies. I've had a Hickman line put in and taken out
(although taking out shouldn't really count). I've had countless IVs.
I've injected myself with a very painful stem cell fortifier. And, of
course, I've had my immune system completely destroyed, along with
the accompanying stem cell transplant. I know. We'll serve no whine
before its time. Yeah? Call the waaaaahmbulance, right? “Get to
Arnold's house, stat!”
But, without laying all of that out for
you, I can't lay it out for myself. If I can't lay it out for myself,
I couldn't possibly make any sense out of what happened during my
hidascan on Thursday. Even at that, we have to back up to the day
before.
After 1 pm. on the 11th, I
couldn't take any pain medication because it would interfere with the
way my gall bladder functioned. Since the whole idea of the test was
to find out if my gallbladder was functioning properly, “No pain
meds for you!”
Normally, that wouldn't be too bad, but
both my stomach pains and back pains decided the 11th of
November would be just the right time to come by and say “Howdy!”...
at the same time. The end result- and I think this was an important
factor in what happened later- was I got no sleep from the time I
woke up on the 11th until the afternoon of the 12th.
No sleep. None. Not any. Nada. Well, I'm sure you get the point.
The spasms in my back were nonstop; not
big rolling spasms, but constant little ones that made it impossible
for me to get comfortable. Fine. Lots of times, no sleep, no problem.
This time, no sleep, big problem.
I don't know what I expected a hidascan
to be, but it was nowhere near what it was. Again, I'm used to
walking in to these things and dealing with them, whatever they might
be. As soon as I looked at the hidascan machine, I knew I was in big
trouble. It looked somewhat like a CAT scanner. I laid on my back and
a camera was moved into position above my liver/gall bladder and The
Nice Lady told me I had to lay still for 45 minutes. Then, they would
put something into my IV, and I'd have to lay even stiller for
another 31 minutes.
Honestly, I tried. I really tried, but
I couldn't. The pain was terrible. Usually, I would be able to put my
brain in a spot that would allow me to be distracted by anything
bright and shiny. Nuh uh. Not this time.
After about 15 minutes, I had to call
The Nice Lady back in and tell her I couldn't do it. I was
embarrassed, slightly ashamed, concerned because I needed to have the
test done and I was very emotional. I asked TNL to get Sheri, who was
sitting in the waiting room.
When she left to get her, I started to
cry. Really, cry. I know, that's not what you've come to expect from
me in these situations. But, you know what? I think these tears were
14 months in the making. I have kept going and been cheerful and
“tough” through all sorts of things. But this felt like the
proverbial “Bridge Too Far.” I just couldn't be brave anymore. So
I cried and cried. Then Sheri came in and the crying went to a whole
'nother level. I felt like I'd let her down, on top of everything
else. We had put so much hope into this test; that it would find the
source of my stomach pains once and for all. And here I was, sitting
up, weeping, telling her I couldn't do it. Talk about a low point.
Of course, Sheri was worried about me
and me only. The test? Whatever. It's only a test. She'd seen me cry
before, but this was different. I'm not sure she'd seen me seem so
beaten at any previous point in this ordeal. So, she took my hand,
and I got big, soppy tears all over both of us. But that's when I
knew I wasn't beaten. I'd just been knocked around... a lot. I mean,
there was no “Theme from Rocky,” or even “Theme from The Care
Bears Movie.” We simply decided, as we have so many times before,
to just get on with it.
And we did. The Nice Lady, and The
Other Nice Lady she was working with, were able to come up with an
alternative they thought would work. I just had to stand (stand!)
completely still for two periods of five minutes each and they
thought they'd get the data they needed. Not ideal, but...
Well, in the interest of truth in pony
finding, I wasn't completely sure that I was going to be able to do
even that. But I did. Good for me!
This is another of those things I
needed to write about as quickly as possible. The brain, being
occasionally merciful, is already convincing the rest of me that...
you know... it wasn't THAT bad.
But it was and, yet again, I thank God
for my wife and the medical staff that is working with me as I take
this journey. Let me say it again: “I Feel...eel...eel.
Like...ike...ike... the luckiest...est.est.est man...an...an on the
face....ace...ace... of the earth...th...th...
There are a variety of versions of
the story that gives this blog its name. The pony is the constant in
all of them. A man is on his way to a party when he comes across a
young boy shoveling ass over tea kettle at an enormous mountain of
manure. The man asks the child if he wouldn't rather go with him to
the party than shovel all that poop. The kid says, “No way man.
With all that poop... there must be a pony in there somewhere.”
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