Nuclear Medicine

Nuclear medicine turned out to be not painful at all, unless you count boredom and annoyance as pain. We were held prisoners in the maw of the big medical center for 6 hours yesterday, but at least I now have Sharpie marker dots drawn on me in the right places and a folder of clear plastic maps to give the surgeon this morning. And if all else fails, I still have radioactive stuff in me that they can use a Geiger counter on if they need to trace my lymphatic system another way.

What we found out yesterday is that even in a world-class medical facility there can be slackers and incompetents, and both happened to be my techs. Hunter (also known in the hallway as "Dude!"), had diction problems severe enough to make him functionally unintelligible, (either a tongue-piercing or sheer laziness was my guess), and the other tech, Jeff, tried to schmooze me when I questioned what the hell they were doing.

The doctor who did the injections was quite wonderful, a woman from Naples, Italy, who gave me her recipe for Butternut Squash Risotto for Thanksgiving while keeping me calm and mentally occupied. She was very disappointed that I knew no Italian, despite claiming to be of Calabrese ancestry, but she was pleased when I gave her a hearty "molto grazie" on her exit (I got an equally hearty "prego!" in reply). But after almost 2 hours of lying uncomfortably still with my arms over my head and listening to the boys "guess" as to which were the sentinel nodes, I spoke up and said "Guys, don't guess, be sure--this is important!" Jeff came over and gave me a speech about how it really didn't matter, that the markers didn't really have to be exact, and the surgeons didn't even look at the maps half the time! If that were the case, then why did my doctor order this test (costing me thousands of $ on a machine worth millions of $, no doubt) if the results were irrelevant? I told Bill that what Jeff just said was nonsense, and I resented being "handled." I warned him that I was about to become the "squeaky wheel," the "bad patient," or the "embarrassing loud and complaining woman" at about 3 pm, but fate blessedly intervened in the form of a new, no-nonsense tech named Wendy, who seemed to be as annoyed with Dude & Jeff as I was.

At about 4, Wendy erased all of their marks on my chest, took new pictures, and drew new marks, checking her work meticulously, and double-checking her placements and labels on the hard copies of the computer pictures. Hallelujah! Someone who cares if we identify the right nodes for surgical removal! Sheesh. So eternal vigilance is still required, and even when you think you're in the right place, you have to keep track of who is doing what and make sure they are competent. Mark says I should definitely tell Dr. Brenin of yesterday's follies in the Nuclear Medicine department, but I may hold off on that, at least until after the procedure today--I don't want to get my surgeon all steamed just before he starts cutting on me.

Today, we are to show up at 11:30 for the scheduled surgery at 1 pm. My guess (and I have experience in this now, unfortunately) is that the surgery will begin around 3. Dr. Mark says that's his best guess too. It will take about 2 hours, with another hour in recovery. So, another long day ahead, this time without food or water (though I am allowed one cup of coffee with sugar, as long as it is before 9 am).

I am cheerful and optimistic this morning. We can't control what the results of the biopsy will be, but I think that the smart people ("dudes" not included), who are taking care of me are doing what they need to do, step by step, trying to give me the best outcome they can.