We interrupt this program for a moment of jubilation:
 |
| Note the adorable Calvin Butt Wiggle. |
Things were going well, I was getting back in the groove of regular life, and then I started feeling this pain in my abdomen. At first it was insignificant enough to be more of a huh, that's weird acknowledgement, but as time went on it became pronounced enough that it was a real distraction. Over the span of two weeks it got to the point where Advil and Tylenol just weren't having any effect, and the pain was radiating from the upper right side around to my back. Not a fan, I can tell you.
So during these two weeks, I was working very hard to resist the lure of hypochondria and catastrophizing. When the pain increased and became constant, I relied on my Google medical degree to ascertain that this pain is located in the area in which one might experience gallbladder pain. And I certainly fit the profile of the 3 Fs: fair, fat, and forties (okay, I'm fifties, but whatever). So I tried not to be too worried about it, but I can't say that the spectre of some hideous tumor wasn't lurking at the corners of my brain. Which is ridiculous: the average person doesn't immediately leap to ohmyGodI'vegotatumor with random aches and pains. I rationalized that, because I was due to have my PET scan sometime in the month, I would be able to just sit tight and the scan would reveal if this was cancer. If it wasn't the Big C, then I could seek attention in addressing this more mundane medical anomaly.
The problem was that the approval for the PET scan was not forthcoming. I don't know if this was entirely the insurance company's fault. Seems like, being a person in remission, I'm not necessarily on the priority list at the cancer center, so there was really no one cracking the whip of urgency for those responsible for following up with the insurance company to obtain authorization. Hard to say. Perhaps it was a combination of both parties.
Well, I waited as long as I could. I began fantasizing about grabbing a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and an X-acto knife and just having at it in the bathroom. Also, the idea of taking a swim in shark-infested waters and allowing a hungry shark to chomp an exact semi-circle out of my right side seemed really appealing.
So I called my primary care...yes, THAT primary care doc (I'm still working on finding a replacement). No open appointments for 7 days. But this is two weeks of worsening abdominal pain, is there no way to make an earlier appointment? Okay, the nurse practitioner has an opening in 6 days. But I'm welcome to keep calling back to see if there are cancellations. Uh, don't you just put me on a cancellation list and call me if an opening comes up? No, we are too busy to do that. Silly me, what was I thinking, of course I'll call you every hour on the hour like a crazed stalker and ask about cancellations, that's a much better way to go about it, you're totally right, my bad.
So I took the appointment with the nurse practitioner. And I thought maybe I could stick it out. But I couldn't hack it. At the urging of my hubs who was scheduled to leave town, I ended up in the ER. And I was there for almost 7 hours. I guess my Google med creds weren't too far off because they did an x-ray and ultrasound of my gallbladder. And they came up negative. After a shift change (waiting, waiting, waiting in a room, waiting, waiting, okay, you've been to the ER, you know how it goes) a new doctor comes in and says that I can go, there is nothing wrong with me. Whaaaaa? The gallbladder is not enlarged. Probably a muscle strain. But this has been going on for two weeks!?! Oh, really? Hmmm. (Wow, did you not read the notes? Just take a second before you walk in the room, really, you can make a much better impression on me by doing that.) It's radiating to your back? Pneumonia can cause that pain. I'll order a chest x-ray. (Did I somehow miss someone listening to my lungs? No stethoscope has made an appearance here. Have I mentioned any other symptoms that might correspond with pneumonia?)
I should have spoken up. I think the pain and the shock at the possibility of the doctors just kicking me loose with a so sad, too bad attitude about the pain made me desperate enough to grab onto the slight glimmer of medical curiosity this doctor was showing like a life preserver, even if it didn't make much sense to me.
Waiting, waiting, waiting. Finally, I got dressed. I'm cranky. I'm feeling like they've forgotten I'm here. Lost in the shift change. I'm thirsty (they won't give me any water), and I'm hungry (no breakfast, no lunch), and I'm sick of this. Someone comes in the room to take vitals (oh, so you DO know I'm here), and I ask when the results of the x-ray will be available, how much longer will this take, I have to pick up my kid from school, what's going on? So that guy leaves and in about 10 minutes the doctor comes in. Tells me that they see something on the x-ray but they don't know what it is. Do I want to come look? Well, yes, I do.
So he's showing me my lung and explaining that there is mystery crap in my lung. Well, that looks sort of like pneumonia. But that looks sort of like lymph nodes (red alert, red alert, danger Will Robinson), and that stuff, well, I dunno what that is. But he starts patting me on the shoulder and starts getting really super duper nice to me, and rubbing my arm, and asks me when I'm going to be following up with my oncologist, and AAAAACCCCKKK! STOP BEING NICE TO ME! The ER staff is getting all ooey gooey nicey nice and I'm expecting to hear a mournful trumpet playing Taps, and holy crap is my cancer back?!?
So this doctor says he's just going to put down a diagnosis of pneumonia, give me some antibiotics, and I should definitely follow up with my oncologist. Frankly, I'm a little discombobulated at this point, so instead of saying, "What the hell are you talking about, you're 'just going to put down something', you don't know what it is, why would you give me meds for it, why don't I just hang out a shingle and become a doctor, I can just put down anything I feel like. Oh, is today Friday, well that's Mad Cow Disease Diagnosis Day in my office," I only ask what they are going to do to help with the pain I came in with. Oh, yeah, THAT...here's some oxycodone. Which made me think that if I were a prescription med junkie and had 7 hours to burn, I might have thought it worth my while to say ow-ow-ow this hurts and sit on my ass in an ER if I could walk out with 20 tablets. What the hell?
I drove straight to my oncologist's office, gave them the report, and wrote a note for her that summarized this nonsense and said, if nothing else, maybe something hinky on an x-ray could shake loose an authorization for my follow-up PET scan. Before I made it home I had a message that I had an appointment with her on Monday. So I made it through the weekend with my hard-earned drugs, saw her on Monday, and she was not happy. She said she hates when this happens, when ER doctors don't know what they are looking at and freak her patients out. She explained that, according to the report, all the funk is showing in my left lung. Okay, so none of that crap the ER doc was pointing to was anywhere near the pain I'm having. And she said that there is likely going to be funk showing in my lung forever from the scar tissue and the radiation. And that there is another gallbladder test that should have been done, and yes, maybe this will get the authorization for the PET, and that I should calm down and she's not worried about the lung.
Whew, thanks for talking me off the ledge, doc. See, I thought I was all good about this stuff, but not really. The paranoia just lurks. Waiting for something to set it free.
Anywho, this story is going on far too long. I apologize. Had the other test. Nada. Talked with a surgeon who said I had all the symptoms, had the pain in the right place (seriously, OW, stop pressing there!), and that 70% of people who have negative tests and present with gallbladder symptoms are shown to, upon removal of said organ, have something hinky with their gallbladder. But he also said he has had personal experience with removing a gallbladder from someone with all the symptoms and negative tests and...nothing is wrong with the gallbladder. So...it's up to me. I HATE that! I don't want to be the decision maker, I want science to make the decision for me!
So I have a surgery date set. Just in case. In the interim I have another consult with a GI doc to discuss other possibilities and to see if I can get an "I concur with the surgeon" out of her. My pain has lessened dramatically, which is wonderful (I don't really like to be on pain meds all the time...cuts into my evening glass of wine consumption). But the pain is still there, just a little hey, don't forget about me kind of poke in the gut.
So we'll see what happens. I do have a quasi-medical, unsubstantiated feeling that, if I have a gallbladder that goes in and out of states of irritation and inflammation, maybe residing in my guts at a low level of inflammation most of the time, but nothing horrific (like it is now...I can feel the slight ow, and if you poke it I'll give you big OW and shove you, but it's not at the forefront of my mind), this is not good for my body. Specifically, if my immune system is allocating resources to manage chronic inflammation, it is perhaps not going to be in the most excellent shape to keep cancer away. Given the whole immune-system connection with lymphoma. So, that's just where my brain is.
It's too bad gallbladders don't weigh 10 or 15 pounds...it would make the decision to remove it much easier for me.
