Follow Up 2.5, part 1

I was in a fairly good mood this morning, despite the feeling of impending doom that comes along with the two-week period of waiting for my six-month check. Once it was time to start getting dressed though, it started. I felt like a little kid; "I don't wanna go!" I talked myself into putting on my scrubs (no metal in them) and forced myself out the door.

I checked in at the front because of the CT and was feeling quite resentful of the pep displayed by the girl who checked me in. I did't like her one bit. She told me I had to pay $291 before I could have the CT and I pictured myself going bananas on her about the healthcare in America. Of coarse I simply said, "he told me on the phone, I only had to pay a portion". After watching her run around like a chicken with her head cut off, I started getting angry. I didn't just not like this girl, I hated her. Finally she returned and told me that I could pay whatever I was comfortable with.

I got my bracelet and went down to the clinic for labs. By this time, I was almost all the way inside my own head talking myself out of throwing up. I checked in and sat. Normally I chat with the receptionist, but I wasn't feeling it. I secretly kicked myself for not just going there first.

They drew my blood in the chemo room which made me further sick. I hadn't been in that room since chemo. The nurse was talking to me and I just wanted to get the hell out of that room! Thank God she was quick, because I was very ready to throw up all over her.

I went down to CT and they took me pretty much right away. These CTs seem to last longer and longer. This once short procedure now seems to go in slow motion as thoughts of what could be inside my chest rush in. It's always cold in that room, no matter how I layer myself. The tech was particularly friendly and although I didn't hate her, I did not appreciate that chipper tone. Misery loves company I guess.

So now the week-long wait begins. Last week I was a little on edge with it getting worse the closer today came. I know this next week will be my own personal brand of hell.

Affected

I just found out my cousin has/had thyroid cancer. I nearly had a panic attack on my way to work. It was twenty minutes of praying, holding my chest, deep breathing, and cursing my mom (how dare she tell me right before I have to go to work). So it got me thinking, how do other cancer survivors and fighters react when they find out someone they love has cancer? What do you do? It breaks my heart that she has to deal with this. It pisses me off that she was told that thyroid cancer is a "good cancer to have". I want to take her under my wing and walk her through every step, but this is her experience and I have to let her go through it in her own way. I let her know that if she needs anything from me, to ask and I suppose that's all I can do.

Dreaming and Dying

Last night I had the most terrifying dream: I was dying. It was so real that I could feel the breathing tube and the nurses doing compressions. I was lying in a hospital bed and I was surrounded by nurses and beeping noises and things kept going blurry and dark and I kept fighting to open my eyes and take breaths. One nurse was trying to get a tube down my throat and that seemed to help me breathe for a minute, but not long enough and I went back into a code. It was so horrible and I don't know if it's a sign that something is wrong with me or a sign that I need to shape up or just because I work in a hospital. Remember the dream with my best friend and the mark on my chest that got the whole cancer ball rolling? I'm literally paralyzed in fear right now. I feel sick to my stomach.

PTSD

I still cannot believe the power of the mind when it comes to traumatic events. The drive to my oncologist's office this morning was the equivilent to walking in quick sand. This normally only four minute drive felt like an hour drive in complete silence with only the voice in my head to reckon with. In fact, I could hear it as if it was narrating my life, "as she drove down that familiar road, she had no idea how her life was about to change". I know, it sounds crazy.

Sitting in that office waiting made me physically sick. It wasn't a long wait, but the waiting was driving me crazy. I got more and more nauseuas every second. I closed my eyes and felt like the room as getting smaller around me. And even after I got the good news that my labs and x-ray were normal, I had to wait in a line of cancer patients to make my next follow-up appointment. That itself had me on the verge of a panic attack. I started sweating and feeling like I couldn't get a full breath of air. I just needed to get outside. I sat down and did some deep breathing with my eyes closed but it didn't help.

Finally, I left and the minute I stepped outside everything just went away and I felt "normal" again. Of coarse we all know that I'm not.

Vietnam

I was at my parents house with the twins the other night sharing a bottle of wine (or two, or three). I was talking about the motorcycle class that I failed and how I decided I wasn't going to go back and finish it. My reason was that I was terrified of dying and that the thought of driving a motorcycle in the city made me very uncomfortable. I stated that should I ever move out to the country, I may reconsider and get my liscense the old fashioned way.

Completely off topic (or so I thought), my dad looks at me and says, "I was thinking about you and you were in Vietnam." I thought it was a pretty crazy thing for him to say, especially because he was in the Vietnam war and never talks about it. I laughed and made a joke about how I must not have made it since I'm here now as his daughter. Then he opened up in his own way by telling me how I was scared that I was going to die every single day, (repeat) every (pause) single (pause) day (long pause).

I'm not very comfortable talking to people about my cancer - especially people who have no idea what it's like. It's become a pet peeve actually to listen to someone who has only known a great uncle who had prostrate cancer or the woman three blocks away who has breast cancer drone on and on about what they think they know. But this was different. We weren't talking about cancer, per say we were talking about the fear of dying and that's something we both had experience with.

He told me he thinks that I have PTSD and I told him I KNOW that I do. He gave me some advice about how the Vietman vets say "it don't mean nothing" and how any time something makes me mad our upset I should ask myself "will this matter tomorrow" before flying off the handle. I told him that I'm quite the opposite - that I feel as if I don't care enough about things; that I let almost everything roll right off of me.

My dad and I haven't been that close for years. I love that man more than anything and think he's the most brilliant, amazing man I've ever known. We just don't have a whole lot in common and after becoming a mom, my mom is my "go to". But this conversation meant more to me than any conversation I'd ever had (pause, repeat) ever.

Impending Check-Up

In just under two weeks I will have labs and a chest x-ray and a week after that I'll get the results. Nothing really blog-worthy; however I'm already feeling the panic.

You'd think I'd get used to this and that by now it would be no skin off my ass, but I'm just not there yet. I'm consumed by negative thoughts about dying and obsessed with feeling for lumps and bumps. I've already decided to demand to see the x-ray results since several doctors missed the cancer on my x-ray in 2008. I know what it looks like on the x-ray and I want to see it.

And speaking of doctors missing things, I've had to see the doctor that diagnosed me with asthma several times recently at work. He comes strolling in the unit and pretty much follows my lead. I used to say hello to him to be "professional" but now he gets the stink-eye. When I see him, I hear my oncologist in my head telling me I'd be dead in six months if they hadn't caught it. I sucked on a steroid inhaler for six months because of my "asthma" and would've kept right on doing it if it wasn't for that "kink" in my neck. When that asshole walks into the unit I just want to spit at him as he walks by me. I want to walk into whatever patient's room that he's in and tell them that he misdiagnosed me. That he looked right at my x-ray, pointed out the "thickening around the lung" and told me "it's nothing to worry about".

I still have a little bit of my cold left and unfortunately it's all in my chest and throat so my mind goes to the dark side. Neck pain? Dark side. Headache? Dark side. I can't wait to get all of this over with. If history is any indicator, my panic and worry will just get worse over the next three weeks until I get my results.

Losing Sleep

Last night I had to force myself to stay up until midnight. I really wanted to get into the online Psychology class rather than having to travel to Gateway in Racine multiple times a week but the class always fills up before I ever get a chance to register. So the plan was to stay up until midnight and register as soon as the date changed to 04/14. I had the hardest time (I think because I worked out for the first time in months) - I kept dozing off and forcing myself awake. Finally midnight rolled around and I hopped online and after one failed attempt, I was registered! I couldn't wait to get to bed.

As I laid in my bed, I noticed the pain in my neck and shoulder and my chest started to feel very heavy. I turned onto my stomach and my arm started hurting. And then I went into panick mode. Convinced I was going to die, I was terrified to go to sleep. I was waiting for a blood clot to burst or a heart attack or stroke. I just laid there waiting and praying.

This is not the first time this has happened to me and I'm sure it won't be the last but I thought it worth blogging about in the Darker Side of Me. This is just one of the many things I don't feel I can talk about to other people - who could possibly understand?