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Scanxiety ("scan-zi-etee")
Anxiety and worry that accompanies the period of time before undergoing or receiving the results of a medical examination"
Remember that scene in Kindergarten Cop where Arnie says, "I have a headache," and the kids say, "Maybe it's a tumor..." and Arnie replies, "It is not a toomah!" That is the conversation in my head right now.
When I sit for too long on any chair that isn't my couch, I develop an awful pain right down in the base of my tailbone. It makes moving to a standing position incredibly painful. Once I'm standing again, the pain subsides.
My doctor thinks it could be a fractured sacrum, except we have no idea what could have caused it (apart from the fact that the treatment for AML has left me at higher risk for bone damage). All I know is that the pain started after the bone marrow biopsy in October.
Tomorrow I'm having an MRI to determine what's causing the pain. According to the hospital Information Sheet, the MRI will be conducted with contrast dye, in order to "be able to better see any traces of disease".
Basically I'm going to be spending the next 24 hours dealing with scanxiety and repeating to myself in mantra-like fashion: IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
When I sit for too long on any chair that isn't my couch, I develop an awful pain right down in the base of my tailbone. It makes moving to a standing position incredibly painful. Once I'm standing again, the pain subsides.
My doctor thinks it could be a fractured sacrum, except we have no idea what could have caused it (apart from the fact that the treatment for AML has left me at higher risk for bone damage). All I know is that the pain started after the bone marrow biopsy in October.
Tomorrow I'm having an MRI to determine what's causing the pain. According to the hospital Information Sheet, the MRI will be conducted with contrast dye, in order to "be able to better see any traces of disease".
Basically I'm going to be spending the next 24 hours dealing with scanxiety and repeating to myself in mantra-like fashion: IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
I will meditate. I will listed to show tunes (Hamilton is currently on high rotation). I will eat chocolate. I will read Ali Smith. I will get past this MRI. And maybe the day after tomorrow is the day I can start being "normal" again and everything will be ok.
IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
IT IS NOT A TUMOR.
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Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
Mucus dripping from your nose
Wheezy lungs sing like they're in a choir
And folks are feeling all their woes
Everybody knows a lemon and some honey-oh,
Help to make the meds taste right.
Tiny germs with their souls all aglow,
Will make it hard to sleep tonight.
We know that influenza's on its way;
Respiratory syncytial virus
For all to slay
And every mother's child is going to cry,
To know that temps do really know how to fly.
And so I'm offering this simple phrase,
To kids from one to ninety-two,
Although its been said many times, many ways,
It's cold and flu season, boo hoo..."
Oh cold and flu season, you gross and icky, mucus-filled extravaganza of joy. After a year of staving off the inevitable, I finally caught a cold.
Having a cold post-transplant means a barrage of questions from my medical team to make sure I don't have the flu (or a myriad of other fun viruses that can compromise my already fragile immune system). It means sorting out what over-the-counter drugs I can take with my existing medications to relieve the symptoms. It means more blood work. It also means a nose swab.
Now you'd think a veteran of 12 bone marrow biopsies would be totally ok with a gentle two second nose swab with a cotton tip. But no. A girl can only be tested for various ailments so many times before the sight of a mere cotton tip can make her weak at the knees and induce a mild panic attack.
Yesterday, I lost my shiz while a patient nurse tried to put a stick up each of my nostrils to swab my mucus. They never told me just how glamorous New York City could be at this time of year! Did I mention that as I demonstrated my delightful hacking cough the nurse requested a bit of sputum as a sample? GLAMOR I TELLS YOU.
For now, hold the roasted chestnuts - I have zero sense of taste or smell and won't enjoy them. If you need me, I'll be at home drinking copious amounts of lemon and honey tea, and hacking up a lung.
Happy flu season ya'll!
Having a cold post-transplant means a barrage of questions from my medical team to make sure I don't have the flu (or a myriad of other fun viruses that can compromise my already fragile immune system). It means sorting out what over-the-counter drugs I can take with my existing medications to relieve the symptoms. It means more blood work. It also means a nose swab.
Now you'd think a veteran of 12 bone marrow biopsies would be totally ok with a gentle two second nose swab with a cotton tip. But no. A girl can only be tested for various ailments so many times before the sight of a mere cotton tip can make her weak at the knees and induce a mild panic attack.
Yesterday, I lost my shiz while a patient nurse tried to put a stick up each of my nostrils to swab my mucus. They never told me just how glamorous New York City could be at this time of year! Did I mention that as I demonstrated my delightful hacking cough the nurse requested a bit of sputum as a sample? GLAMOR I TELLS YOU.
For now, hold the roasted chestnuts - I have zero sense of taste or smell and won't enjoy them. If you need me, I'll be at home drinking copious amounts of lemon and honey tea, and hacking up a lung.
Happy flu season ya'll!
- Published on
The hemoglobin goblin is still here. I had to have another bone marrow biopsy today. My doctor did it herself. At the end, she clutched the bio-bag containing a vial of my blood and said, "I don't know what other tests to run. I want to hold on to this in case I think of something." Inspiring, no? My wonderful nurse practitioner sat with me afterwards while I sobbed. Stupid hemoglobin goblin. I thought I told you to be gone?
Tonight I got to do something fun, and totally out of character: wear designer clothes! Despite the lidocaine still coursing through my system, and my back aching like hell, I decided to go through with attending a special event for CancerCare - a shopping night at the Soho boutique, Nicole Miller. Along with three other survivors, I was there to talk about my experience with cancer, and how CancerCare had helped me.
To start the evening, we were taken to NARS Cosmetics and had our make-up professionally done. The make-up artists were so lovely, starting off the session with face massages and making us feel utterly pampered and special.
Back at the boutique, the staff of Nicole Miller helped us pick out outfits and personally attended to each of us. It was so much fun to wear a dress I would never ever even think about trying on because it costs almost half my month's rent!
The guests arrived, and after some light refreshments and shopping, the four survivors told our stories about how CancerCare had helped us.
No matter how many cancer stories I hear, the thing that always gets me is how goddamn awful this disease is. It doesn't matter what kind of cancer it is, how long ago the treatment finished, or how great your support system is, cancer effing sucks.
Tonight I was pampered and made to feel incredibly special. It was truly lovely, and a great way to ignore the goblin for a couple of hours.
Thank you to utterly lovely staff at Nicole Miller, NARS Cosmetics, and CancerCare for making the evening possible!
Tonight I got to do something fun, and totally out of character: wear designer clothes! Despite the lidocaine still coursing through my system, and my back aching like hell, I decided to go through with attending a special event for CancerCare - a shopping night at the Soho boutique, Nicole Miller. Along with three other survivors, I was there to talk about my experience with cancer, and how CancerCare had helped me.
To start the evening, we were taken to NARS Cosmetics and had our make-up professionally done. The make-up artists were so lovely, starting off the session with face massages and making us feel utterly pampered and special.
Back at the boutique, the staff of Nicole Miller helped us pick out outfits and personally attended to each of us. It was so much fun to wear a dress I would never ever even think about trying on because it costs almost half my month's rent!
The guests arrived, and after some light refreshments and shopping, the four survivors told our stories about how CancerCare had helped us.
No matter how many cancer stories I hear, the thing that always gets me is how goddamn awful this disease is. It doesn't matter what kind of cancer it is, how long ago the treatment finished, or how great your support system is, cancer effing sucks.
Tonight I was pampered and made to feel incredibly special. It was truly lovely, and a great way to ignore the goblin for a couple of hours.
Thank you to utterly lovely staff at Nicole Miller, NARS Cosmetics, and CancerCare for making the evening possible!