The Future's So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades

I met with the doctor late yesterday. He was 30 minutes late which may have been the worst portion of this entire event. I have no patience, I admit that, and to have to wait for someone that is late for something as important as this was almost unbearable. I didn’t take a book with me because I couldn’t read and I only took my phone to check the time. No Candy Crush or Words With Friends I was far too nervous to do anything but sit and wait.

However, it was worth the wait. The PET “didn’t light up” and the path the doc is taking is towards the benign. I have to meet with another doc to schedule a biopsy, but I can deal with that wait since I have a negative PET scan.

What a tremendous feeling I had when he said, well I have good news.

Off to See the Wizard…Soon.

My doctor’s visit is in five hours and 43 minutes as I type this. Today is the big day. I meet with the doc and get the results from the CT and PET scans and discuss treatment.

 I have a huge list of questions if the result is malignant. I have a very short list if the result is benign. If the result is the latter I intend to be there for a very short time.

Here’s to getting home early.

The PET Scan

 I had the PET scan yesterday morning. The night before I was in a panic because I received a letter from Blue Cross\ Blue Shield stating the PET scan had been denied as “not medically necessary.”  I immediately called and was told it had been approved and the CAT scan, which I’ve already had, was denied. Last night I received the letter denying the CAT scan also as “not medically necessary.”  The reason given was because I had one recently and this one was too close to the other one. I’ve only had one CAT scan, the one they denied. Idiots.

The PET scan was painless. The slight needle stick when the IV is inserted is the only thing that resembles pain. The problem is lying in one place for 20 plus minutes with your arms over your head and not able to move. When I was put on the table I was covered up with two thin, warmed blankets. The blankets were nice and helped me relax during the procedure. I was quite stiff though when I got up off the table from not being able to move or squirm.

Now it’s a waiting game. The scan goes to the doctor and I meet with him next Tuesday the 29^th to discuss the results. It’s going to be one long, long weekend.

The Waiting….Sucks.

So, I call the doc’s office Monday about noon and explain I haven’t heard anything about the PET scan. At first I’m asked when I discussed it with Barbara and I explain it was last Wednesday. Then I’m told “Barbara is on vacation and the order isn’t posted” and before I can go ballistic the lady on the phone says “oh, here is the note.” She then tells “me it takes five business days to schedule a PET scan. The insurance company has to be notified and approve the scan. Blah, blah, blah.” I don’t want to hear about waiting and insurance approvals. I want an appointment time. Now.

The yesterday the hospital calls and informs me I’m scheduled for the scan this Thursday the 24^th and 7AM. I can’t eat or drink for four hours prior to the test and no caffeine for twelve hours prior. Neither is a problem for me, although I’d have preferred to have the test today.

About three hours later the doctor’s office calls and wants to schedule me for an appointment with the doctor for Wednesday 10\29 at 4:15 to discuss the results of the PET scan. Even more waiting.

I hate the waiting, but what can I do but wait?

No One Gets Out Alive

 We all die. That’s a given fact, an indisputable truth. And it happens to the best of us. But, what would you do if you had to face mortality head-on? Sneer? Laugh? Cry? Break something? Wrap your arms around everyone you love and squeeze as hard as possible? All of the above?  I don’t think anyone knows how they will react until they actually look that mortality Bitch in the eyes and shake her hand. Sadly, I may soon find out what it is I will do.

I have Polycythemia Vera (PV). PV is a bone marrow condition that over produces red blood cells. It isn’t symptomatic and I don’t experience any issues or signs that I actually have the disease. My GP discovered the condition during routine blood tests when my red blood count showed elevated on multiple consecutive visits.  Left untreated PV can be fatal because of the thickening of the blood and pushing thicker blood through the body. The treatment is simply a bloodletting. I go to the doctor every 3-4 weeks and get a phlebotomy. I go to the doctor’s office and a vampire (nurse) shoves a needle in my arm and removes a pint of blood. It’s largely painless after the initial needle stick and being a pint low on blood makes me a cheap date if I have a drink or two. The treatment is more of a scheduling hassle than anything else.

On every other visit I see a PA, Barbara. Barbara asks about any symptoms and checks me over. She listens to my heart and lungs and pushes and pokes around my head and torso. The last time I was in the office, a couple of weeks ago, she was poking around and said, “Hmm, I haven’t felt that lump before.” I asked “what lump and where?” It was on my upper right side just under my collarbone and in the corner of my torso where the collarbone, shoulder and chest form a triangle. I felt it and said “I think it’s my chest muscle and it’s just a little swollen from moving some heavy equipment last weekend.” She says “well, we need to get a CAT scan.” I’m thinking swell, another visit to another doctor and another procedure. Then after I leave I think OK, so she is an oncologist and she is accustomed to pushing and poking lumps and since she is concerned maybe I shouldn’t be so flippant and get the procedure.

 I go in early one morning this past week and I have a CAT scan with contrast. It’s a CAT scan and taken while you are being pumped full of a contrast agent via an IV. It too is largely painless, although the contrast agent made me feel a little nauseous for about five minutes. When I leave I ask the technician what the process is and she explains a radiologist will look at the scan and send it to the doctor in 2-3 days.

So I was a little surprised when Barbara called me that afternoon and said “we received the results of your CAT scan and it appears you have a mass in your chest.”  I managed to reply “wait, what was that?” Did you say mass?” She says “yes, it’s about 2.5 centimeters by 2 centimeters and it is deeper in the chest that I thought it was. The lump I felt is there because the mass is pushing your chest out.” WTF? A mass? I ask her “what the next step is and how do we get there.” She replies “the next step is a PET scan, we’ll try to do it next week, and we also need some blood for a series of protein tests. When can you stop by for the blood test?”  I schedule the blood tests for the next morning and get on the PC.

I Google 2.5 centimeters because I only know the basics about the metric system and I don’t know how big, or small, 2.5 centimeters are. I also can’t think clearly enough to even attempt to anything but an Internet search and I barely manage that. I found out it’s just under an inch and 2 centimeters is about three fourths of an inch. About the size of my thumb from the tip to the knuckle; I think it’s about the size of a beanie-weenie weenie. Not very big if you were sitting down to lunch, but quite large when it is in your chest and it ain’t supposed to be there. It’s big enough to alarm Barbara and certainly big enough to freak me out.

The only things Barbara and I have at this point are more questions. There isn’t enough information to make any sort of decision and just enough information to speculate from one end of the medial spectrum to the other and speculation is a worthless exercise.  This mass could be benign and Babs and I could enjoy a hearty whew and a good laugh or it could be the beginning of the end of me.

 I can see that the mortality Bitch is walking down my street and I don’t know if she is going to knock on my door or bypass my house and darken someone else’s life. All I can to at this point is wait on the blood tests results, get the PET scan, make myself ready for the inevitable biopsy and do my best not to speculate.  

 But speculation is hard to avoid when I make my nightly trek to the bathroom and after climbing back into bed and just before I fall back asleep when I feel a twitch in my shoulder and I pop wide awake thinking WTF?

Stay tuned…