The MRI

This week I finally deemed that enough time had passed and my arm had healed sufficiently to schedule the MRI that would tell us what my status is. I had the MRI last night.

I've never had anything but an arm MRI, so I don't know what they're like for other body parts, but for arms they suck. I was told last night that arms are one of the toughest areas to scan. I was scheduled for both a forearm and an upper arm scan, and it takes a long time because they're basically scanning microscopic cross-sections of my arm, from the wrist all the way up.

I'm usually pretty laid back about what's going on with me, but I will say that I've had a lot of medical procedures done. A lot - bone marrow tests (I can't even tell you how many, but I'm sure it's more than 20. One is enough to freak you out), two bone marrow harvests, chemo (hey, folks that are hesitant to donate bone marrow because you've heard it hurts I've done it TWICE (the first time they didn't get enough neutrophils because I hadn't been off maintenance chemo long enough) and chemo's worse), a spinal tap...you get the idea. So last night, I was high maintenance. I squeezed the little ball three times and had to come out of the machine because I was freaking out (and I had to pee - note to self: do not drink smoothies on your way to future MRIs). My back was spasming, I was getting heartburn, my breathing was getting confused - I didn't know if I needed to inhale or exhale (I'm pretty sure that's what they call hyperventilating), and I was getting dizzy.

Luckily, I had a very sympathetic MRI technician (she kept calling me "Darling" - and she was a tattoed 25-year old). Finally, when we were almost done, the machine stopped working. She said she'd gotten most everything anyway, and didn't think we needed to scan the very upper arm (the tumor only went a couple inches above the elbow). But when I left, I felt like I'd been violated. And it didn't even involve a needle or a scalpel (oh, wait, there was a butterfly needle and contrast involved). I went to the co-op, bought flower healing remedy, tapioca pudding (they were out of chocolate), and went home and drank holy basil tea (it's calming), ate the pudding (hey, it's better than drinking vodka, another option I'd been considering), and watched this season's three episodes of Glee all while curled up in a ball.

The worst thing is that I'll need MRIs (along with lung CTs) regularly for the next few years. When I see the doctor tomorrow (more on that in the next paragraph), I'm going to see if they can give me some anti-anxiety meds. Ativan, valium, whatever, I'll take it (and I'm usually the one who doesn't take pain meds!). And I'll take an antacid. And no smoothies beforehand.

I see Dr. Ogilvie at 8:30 tomorrow morning to discuss the results. I've realized I discuss and plan life around them not seeing any cancer in the MRI - what else can you do? I'm not going to plan my life around this disease. That's part of that whole kicking cancer's butt thing - not letting it affect my lfe (at least not in any negative ways). But...not until the scan was done have I really thought about the what if? What if it does show residual tumor? See? There I go.

Luckily my friend Pat is taking me to a movie tonight (50/50 - a movie about cancer, wouldn't you know - it was my choice) so I won't have too much time for my mind to wander. Please keep your fingers crossed, keep me in your thoughts and prayers (now that's a weird and demanding to ask for myself!), send good vibes and energy, whatever your personal beliefs have you do. Thanks for hearing out my rants!