Decisions

Well, I'm finally being given a choice in my cancer treatment. I'm finally allowed to decide what I want. But now I have a new problem.

I don't know what I want.

Or maybe it's better to say that I don't know what's best for me. I've left everything in the doctors' hands until this point. I've done whatever they've told me to do. I've followed all of their instructions. I've suffered through every scan, test and surgery they've suggested. I've questioned them and accepted their answers, whether I've agreed with them or not.

But now I'm in control for the first time.

I finally had my post-surgery follow up with Dr. Leitao today. I was amped up after my discussion with the biochemist yesterday, and walked into Sloan-Kettering with my fighting gloves in my back pocket. I figured I'd tell Dr. Leitao that I wanted to take supplements to help with the chemo and I wanted to skip the radiation, then he'd tell me I'm crazy, I'd put up a little fight, get tired and back down. But that's not the way it happened.

Surprisingly, I was called into Dr. Leitao's office on time for my 1:00 appointment. The nurse - not Lisa - took my vitals and asked a few questions. Dr. Leitao came in shortly, and I'm pretty sure he expected this to be a quick in and out visit. He didn't know I was armed with questions that would force him to stay until I was satisfied.

He complimented my newly darkened hair, checked my incisions, asked me how I was feeling and started to head for the door. "Wait!" I called after him. "Can you go over the pathology again? Dr. Gorsky has such a thick accent, so I want to make sure I understood what she was saying." He turned around and started to speak, "Well, we definitely did the right surgery for the cancer you have. It's definitely small cell and it was in the cervix and the parametria, which is that area around the cervix. It was also in one of the nodes, so I recommend you don't wait too long to start treatment. We got clean margins..." That's what I wanted to hear. I didn't listen to the rest of the sentence, but jumped in with, "So, if you got clean margins, you don't think there's anything left there, right?" He answered, "No, we didn't see anything, but it might be in one of the other nodes." I put on my boxing gloves, "Ok, so the nodes are treated with chemo, because it works systemically, right? Radiation treats a localized area. Since you think you got it all, and there were clean margins in the pathology, is there really a need for the radiation? Isn't it overkill?"

Dr. Leitao stared at me with surprise. I continued, "I'm not arguing with you about the chemo. I understand why I need to do that. But not the radiation. I've been reading and talking to people on a small cell cervical cancer site on Facebook, and the horror stories about radiation are awful. With chemo, there are terrible side effects, but once the chemo is done, they go away. My hair will fall out, but my hair will grow back. The side effects of radiation are permanent. It will shrink my vagina and make sex uncomfortable. I don't want to start a marriage like that. Plus, it could lead to bladder and intestinal damage. What if I say I don't want to do it?"

Dr. Leitao seemed a bit taken aback by my plea. He chose his words carefully and said, "I don't disagree with your concerns. You're right, radiation isn't fun. It's rare that you'd have any serious damage, but it's possible. I can't advise you not to do it because this is how we treat your type of cancer, but I see what you're saying. The problem is, there isn't enough research that's been done on small cell cervical cancer. It's too rare. If you had regular, garden variety, cervical cancer, the treatment that is most successful is radiation. I would insist on it. But the small cell cancer is tricky. It responds best to the platin-based chemotherapy. That's the really important part that you have to do. We just do the radiation on top of it because it's like hitting it with two guns instead of one."

I was shocked. It almost seemed like he thought I was right. He didn't come out and say it, and I could see that he didn't really know what answer to give me because the research isn't there to support him either way. There was definite concern in Dr. Leitao's eyes, and he was torn between letting me make my own decision and doing what was best for my health. The dilemma came from the fact that there weren't even percentages he could give me of women who chose one treatment over both. There just aren't enough people in the world with this type of cancer.

I changed gears for a minute. "On another note, I saw a biochemist yesterday. He gave me a bunch of supplements to take during chemo to help boost my immune system. I brought the list, if you want to see it. Dr. Gorsky was quick to tell me not to take anything, but I want to know what you think." He didn't take the list, but quickly responded with, "I won't know what any of those things are, but I don't have a problem with you taking them if you check them out on the Sloan-Kettering website in the Integrative Medicine section. Type in each name and see what's written about them. If they're ok, go ahead and take them. Can't hurt."

Ok, that was easier than I thought. Back to the radiation discussion.

"So, back to the radiation. I don't know what to do. Can I choose not to do it?" Dr. Leitao shrugged and said, "You can choose to walk out of here and never come back. We can't force you to do anything you don't want to do. We can only tell you what we think is best for your care and hope you take our advice." I asked again, "Do you think I need radiation on top of the chemo?" I could see the poor guy was struggling with the right answer, "As I said before, I can see where you're coming from. The chemo is most important. We don't really know if the radiation is necessary, but with an aggressive cancer like this, we suggest you do it all."

We spoke for a few more minutes without coming to a conclusion, then Dr. Leitao left to see another patient, and my mom, Jimmi and I stayed to talk to Lisa, who had joined us midway through the discussion.

"So, what would you do if it were you?" I asked Lisa. "I knew you were gonna do that to me," she smiled. "I don't know. It's so hard. I know you're young and this really sucks, but you have kids. I would be thinking about my kids and I'd want to be around for them."

Jimmi opened his mouth, "How often will she be checked after everything is done?"

"Every three months. She'll have scans of the pelvis, belly and lungs to make sure everything is clean."

Jimmi spoke again...or maybe it was my mom, "So if she chooses not to do the radiation now, then something pops up on one of those scans, can you do it at that point?"

Lisa answered, "Yes, then she wouldn't have a choice. And depending on what it is, they might suggest chemo again. But if she has radiation now, and something comes back in the same area, she can't have radiation again. It's a one time deal in the same area."

My mom asked, "So if she has radiation now, and then it comes back, how will they treat it?"

"With more chemo or surgery, if possible," Lisa explained.

I wasn't getting a definitive answer from anyone. Yes, I want to be around for my kids. But if the purpose of chemo is to kill stray cancer cells, shouldn't that be enough? If there was anything left over that they could see, I'd understand the radiation, but there isn't. Should I take my chances and opt out of the radiation? Should I play it safe and do it now, then risk further complications from the treatment?

I've been begging to have a choice for so long. Now I finally have one, and I can't figure out what I should do.

If I skip the radiation now, then the cancer comes back, I'll kick myself. But if I do the radiation now and it causes me to lose my bladder or never have sex again, I'll be angry for the rest of my life. But at least I'll have a life. But what if the chemo is enough to have a life? How do I make this decision? I can't even look at statistics, because there aren't any!

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid cancer!

How do I decide what's best for me? Who can give me the answers? What if I make the wrong decision? What if that decision kills me?

I'm open to suggestions.

Angry

Today was a bad day.

When I woke up this morning, I was prepared to accept what is going to happen to me in a little over a week. Chemo and radiation. That's the plan. The loop of my roller coaster is getting closer.

But today, after an appointment with a biochemist, my entire thought process has changed.

After my hysterectomy, my dad was in a bagel shop in the town where he lives. He was talking to the owners about my situation, and they told him about a woman they know who had a similar situation and also went to Sloan-Kettering for treatment. I guess my dad gave them my number to give to this woman, because she called me right away to talk about her cancer and see if she could be of any help to me. The one piece of advice she insisted I accept was to go see her biochemist. She said he saved her life during chemo and she never got sick at all.

Sounds like an angel from God.

I had an appointment with that angel, aka Dr. Abrishamian, today at 11:30 am. I should've known it was going to be "one of those days" when his receptionist called at 11:15 to change the appointment to 1:00 pm. Or maybe I should've know when we got to the appointment at 12:50 and the receptionist was on the phone saying, "Ok, I'll call her to change it. Wait, she just walked in. Ok, 2:00 then?" But, whatever. Jimmi and I just ran around doing nothing in particular until the doctor was finally available to see us.

We walked in at 2:00, and the receptionist gave us a thumb's up. "He's here. Sorry about that. He lives in Pennsylvania and there was a lot of traffic." Yeah, yeah. Just give me something to make the chemo easier to handle. But, "No problem," was what actually came out of my mouth.

Dr. Abrishamian took us into his office and asked me to tell him what's going on with me. Of course, since he had asked for all of my records to be sent to him over a week ago, he already knew. I explained my situation, what had already been done and what was going to be done. Then I said, "one of your patients told me that you got her through chemo without feeling sick., That's what I want. I hate to throw up so I'll do anything."

First, Dr. Abrishamian let me know that he thinks the doctors have already been more than aggressive with my treatment just by doing the hysterectomy alone. Then he let me know that if we were in Germany, they would not even think of giving me chemotherapy at this point. "Doctors here follow a protocol. They do the same thing for every patient so they have information for their studies. Why do they need to give you radiation?" I just stared at him and shrugged my shoulders. "Because they said the chemo works best in conjunction with the radiation." Dr. A shook his head. "I don't understand what these doctors are thinking," he said. "Radiation CAUSES cancer. And the damage to the tissues in your body is permanent. You can't recover from that. I can give you supplements to boost your immune system to help with the chemo, but there's nothing I can do for the radiation. If it gives you diarrhea, I can stop it. But that's it."

My face fell. I hadn't thought about the effects of radiation being permanent.

Dr. A continued, "What I will do is give you bunch of different supplements to boost your immune system. These are all things your body makes on its own, I'm just giving you more. They will help your liver to break down the medications easier and help your digestive system stay strong. That will help with the nausea. It will also help to keep your white blood cells at a normal level and keep your bone marrow from depleting so you're able to fight infections better and you won't end up sick and in the hospital. Honestly, though, the best thing I can tell you is to take Alka Seltzer. The doctors give you all of these anti-nausea meds, but all you really need is Alka Seltzer the day before and the days of chemo. It'll be the best $4.00 you'll ever spend."

Sounded good to me.

But I asked, "What will the doctors say if I ask them about this? Will they let me take these supplements?" Dr. A smiled, "It's up to you whether or not you discuss it with them. But no, they usually don't like you to take anything but what they tell you to take. They don't want any outside influences ruining their studies. The thing is, they prescribe medication to you because it's the standard regimen. But I'm a chemist. I can actually make the medicines. I also know exactly why they cause the side effects, so I know how to counteract them. Nothing I give you will alter the effectiveness of the chemotherapy, it will just help you to feel better. You'll walk into the treatment without any problems. You'll feel fine. Everyone will want to know why."

I couldn't think straight. Jimmi and the doctor were chatting about medical doctors and music and cancer treatments, and I was just sitting there in a daze. I don't want radiation. The whole time I was so scared of chemo, but it's actually the radiation I should be worrying about. If chemotherapy is systemic, and kills cancer cells everywhere in the body, why do I need to radiate the stump that's left after surgery? The doctors say they got it all, right? So what's left to zap? Only my vagina. If they do that, they'll shrink it. If they shrink it, I'll need dilators. If I need dilators, my sex life is over.

I'm not ok with that.

Dr. A went on to talk about foods that I should and shouldn't eat to help with the treatments and aid in preventing more cancer growth. Anything with alcohol or vinegar is out because my liver will be too busy working on the medical poisons to break those down. Ok, I can live without salad dressing. But then, the list continued.

I can't eat:

Ketchup, mustard, BBQ sauce, hot sauce, horseradish, mayonnaise, salami, pepperoni, hummus, soy sauce, teriyaki sauce, tofu, miso soup, mozzarella, fontina, cottage cheese, cheddar, swiss, muenster, pepper jack, blue cheese, cream cheese, mushrooms, yams, sweet potatoes, pickles, marinated artichokes, peppers, eggplant, tomatoes, potatoes, red meat, bananas, pineapple, grapes, jams or jellies, dried fruits, store bought fruit juice, soft drinks, all baked goods, bagels, donuts, bread, rolls, cake, cookies, muffins, crackers, egg rolls, waffles, pita bread, pancakes, chocolate, candy, potato chips, pretzels, ice cream, pudding, sherbet, sorbet, sugar and artificial sweetener.

Ok. Ummmm...What the Hell can I eat??

I think I was probably ok until I read the no cookies, ice cream or chocolate part. Then he tells me that he doesn't want me to lost any weight. Are you kidding? You've just taken away anything that will possible keep fat on my body and you tell me you don't want me to lost weight? I get that this will help with the chemo, and I understand that cancer cells love sugar. But give me a break! And the best part is that the doctors at Sloan-Kettering are telling me to drink Gatorade and eat Jell-O and ice pops to help with chemo. But this guy is saying no sugar or sugar substitute!

Now I was getting angry.

I really want to do what Dr. A is telling me to do because feeling good during chemo is really important to me. I understand where he's coming from with the supplements. But without hiring a personal nutritionist and chef to live with me for four months, I really don't know how I can possibly stay on this diet. I won't even be able to eat my own wedding cake!

Dr. Abrishamian encouraged me to start my supplement regimen immediately so my immune system has time to build up before treatments start in 10 days. I agreed, and he walked us to the waiting room while he got an armful of bottles together for me. He plopped them down on the counter, wished us luck and left his receptionist to type up my instructions.

Biotin - take 2 pills twice daily with food. Do not take after 5 PM.
Bifo Viden - take 1 capsule twice daily with or without food
Co-Q-10 - take 2 pills in the am. Days of chemo take 2 pills twice daily
Colostrum - take 2 capsules twice daily. Days of chemo, take 4 pills twice daily
I-5 & L-Glutamine - mix 1 scoop of each supplement in milk and drink once daily. During chemo take twice daily
Vitamin D - take 1 pill daily. During chemo take 1 pill twice daily.

In a juicer, Blend equal parts:
Parsley
Anise
Bok Choy
Carrots
Drink 8 oz per day

Whoa. That's a lot of stuff. If it works, I don't care. But should I try it? Should I talk to Dr. Leitao about it tomorrow? What if he says no? Should I do it behind his back? Will he let me skip the radiation? Will I be forced into submission again?

I don't know what to do!

My head is spinning.

I paid a fortune for my stash and left the office. I was in bitch mode and when Jimmi tried to talk to me, I just about bit his head off. Everything Dr. Abrishamian had said seemed to make sense. But when I had spoken to the other doctors, everything they had said seems to make sense too. Why am I so easily swayed? I get roped into all the sales pitches. I'm the perfect target for the next fast talking salesman that wants to make a few bucks. I'll believe anything you tell me as long as it sounds like there's information to back it up.

I'm lost.

I'm scared.

I'm confused.

I don't know what to do.

I don't know who to listen to.

I just want this to go away.

I just want to be healthy.

I just want to get married.

I just want my life back.

Radiation Simulation

Today was the day I'd been putting off for two weeks.

Yes, I knew it was inevitable. At some point, I'd have to let them do the radiation simulation, but I just didn't want to accept the fact that the treatments were actually going to happen. If I put off the simulation, they can't do the radiation, right?

Wrong.

The treatments are going to happen. And they're going to happen soon.

Ok, in all honesty, the first time I canceled the sim was because they scheduled it only a week after surgery. I was sore and swollen and in no condition to have my body molded. It was rescheduled for last Monday, and while I really didn't want to go, the truth is, I was actually in a lot of pain from whatever crazy infection landed me in the hospital a few days later.

But today, there was no excuse.

Today was the day. I had no choice but to go and get it over with.

We arrived at Sloan-Kettering in NJ at 10:15 am for a 10:30 appointment. I was called almost immediately by a technician with long, curly, reddish hair and a face full of freckles named Mary Ellen. She led me to a small room with an oversized chair and asked me the questions I know I'll hear out of each nurse or tech at Sloan each time they see me. "Spell your first and last name. What's your date of birth?" Sometimes I even rattle off the answers before they have a chance to ask. It keeps them on their toes.

Mary Ellen gave me a cup of the all too familiar, red contrast dye to drink. I didn't worry since only the IV dye seems to want to kill me. "Ok, drink this as while I explain what we're going to do. First, we're going to have you lie down on the CT scan table as straight as you can. Then we'll take a picture with the scan to make sure you're exactly straight. When we confirm that you are, we'll put a plastic mold on your body and let it harden. We'll mark the mold and your body with marker so we know the right position. Then, Dr. Sidebotham will come in and either inject dye into your vagina or insert a tampon soaked in dye. Then we'll take more pictures. After Dr. Sidebotham checks to make sure the position is correct, we'll cut holes in the mold and tattoo you in a few places to make sure you're in the exact same position each time you come in for a treatment. Any questions?"

Oh, so many.

But I shook my head instead of asking her anything. "Here is your schedule for when your treatments start. Each week, you'll get a new schedule, but your typical treatment time will be 12:05 each day. I'm going to step out for a minute. Finish your drink and I'll be back to get you in shortly."

I took a sip of the fruity mixture, then looked down at my schedule card and saw the beginning of Hell written in black and white.

7/18/11 - 1:30 PM - Radiation Oncology for Setup with Radiation Therapy
7/19/11 - 9:10 AM - Radiation Oncology for Treatment with Radiation Therapy
7/20/11 - 12:05 PM - Radiation Oncology for Treatment with Radiation Therapy

Ok, so I don't actually start treatments on the 18th because that's just a setup day. The treatments really begin on the 19th. I'm assuming it's an early start time because I'll need to go upstairs right after radiation for my five hour chemo treatment. I'm able to start later on the 20th because the chemo treatment is shorter.

Why do I have to do this again? Let me rephrase that. Why do I have to do this NOW? My wedding dress came in today. Shouldn't I be worrying about that? Shouldn't I be jumping up and down with excitement and rushing to the store to try it on? Shouldn't I be picking out accessories for my hair and jewelry to match? Shouldn't I be picking out my cake and shopping for my honeymoon?

Yes, I should be.

But I'm not.

Mary Ellen came back to get me, as promised, and I followed her to a changing room. "Take everything off," she instructed. "But bring your underwear with you. If she has to inject the dye directly into your vagina instead of using the tampon, it gets pretty messy and I'll need to give you a pad." Sounds fun. "Here's a gown and a robe for you. There are lockers for all of your stuff."

I got undressed and put on the gown and robe. I brought my belongings to the bay of lockers and looked around. They were all available. Which one should I choose? Hmmmm...Ah! I'll take number 3. Maybe it'll be good luck for September 3rd. Hey, who isn't a little superstitious?

Mary Ellen showed me to the CT scan room where another technician was waiting. "This is Jean," Mary Ellen said. "She'll be working with me on your sim." I smiled and greeted her politely. My stomach was starting to gurgle and I was wondering if it was from the stool softeners or my nerves. "Ok, have a seat on the table and lay your head back on the pillow. Be careful you don't sit on the pegs on the side. We use those to lock in the mold."

I did as I was told, and immediately noticed how hard and uncomfortable the table felt under my back. I didn't know it then, but it was definitely a smart move canceling last week. With the pain I had in my lower back, I never would've gotten through this.

Mary Ellen and Jean shifted me around a bit until they thought I was completely straight on the table. They asked me to relax my muscles so my weight was distributed evenly. When they got me where they wanted me they said, "Try not to move at all," and left the scan area so they could start the machine. I felt the table move, and I closed my eyes. Five seconds later, the techs came back into the room. "Ok, looks good. We're going to do the mold now. The plastic will feel wet and hot, but it will cool down quickly. Try not to move."

I watched as they walked over to a large machine that looked like a paraffin heater at a nail salon, only ten times bigger. They each reached into the top and grabbed a long, flat piece of hot, white, moldable plastic. On either end of the sheet were wooden handles they could grip so the plastic didn't burn their hands. As they walked quickly toward me, each one holding a side, they looked like two little children running with a giant bubble wand.

They held the hot plastic above me and Mary Ellen said, "It's going to burn a little bit, but it'll cool off quickly. Don't move." With that, they lowered the sheet onto my body from my thighs to right under my breasts. "Ouch!" I winced. But it only hurt for a second. You know that feeling when you're at a restaurant and the candle on the table has a pool of melted wax under the flame and you just can't resist sticking your finger in it? You know how it burns at fist, then immediately cools into a waxy covering? That's exactly how this felt, only on a larger scale.

As the mold was drying, Mary Ellen and Jean were locking it into place and adjusting positioning. They also took some weights and made sure the plastic went down to the parts between my legs. They waited a few minutes, made some marks on the plastic and on my skin with marker, then took another scan. "Ok, we're just waiting for Dr. Sidebotham to come in and check everything out."

I hung out for a few minutes with the mold over my body, thinking how strange this was. Mary Ellen asked me about Jimmi because she had seen him in the waiting room. She mentioned his tattoos to Jean, who started to talk about her husband and his tattoos. Then they asked me how many I had. "Five," I told them. "Oh, then the tattooing part today should be a piece of cake for you!" Mary Ellen quipped. "Is it a real tattoo gun? Does it feel the same?"I questioned. Mary Ellen smiled, "You're asking the wrong person. I've never seen a real tattoo gun before."

Soon, Dr. Sidebotham entered the room with a sympathetic hello. "I hear you weren't feeling too well last week," she said. "Yeah, it was rough. I ended up in the hospital twice. There was no way I would've been able to do this with the amount of pain I was in," I explained. "Well," she said, "we were trying to rush you along because of your wedding. But if you weren't healed, I wouldn't have done anything anyway. You should definitely be ok by now."

She explained that she needed to do an internal exam to check and make sure the vaginal cuff (the newly formed top end of my vagina) was in tact and healed. I was terrified. Nothing had been in there since the surgery, and I really didn't want anything in there now. I didn't want to feel my new, shortened vagina. I didn't want her in there! I can't make her stop! I have no choice!

"Nothing's been in there since the surgery. I'm kinda nervous." Dr. Sidebotham turned to look at me, "Didn't Dr. Leitao check you during your follow-up?" "He was supposed to," I explained, "but because I was in the hospital on Friday, I had to reschedule the appointment." She continued to put on her latex examination gloves. "Oh, that's right. Ok, well, I would've preferred that he check you first, but since you're three weeks post-surgery, everything should be ok, I need to do it anyway."

She walked over to the table with a handful of lubrication and asked me to "frog-leg" a bit. Then she gently started the exam. My heart was racing and my muscles tightened up. "Just relax. I'll go very slowly and I'm using lots of gel." I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it. Honestly, it really wasn't too bad. The anticipation was much worse than the exam itself. "Everything is in tact and healed nicely," Dr. Sidebotham confirmed. Then she asked the tech to get her a dye-soaked tampon.

Oh, I hope it's a "slender", I thought to myself.

Suddenly, I saw the tech walk over with a cotton cylinder the size of a "super plus" tampon. Oh, that's not good. I braced myself for insertion and held my breath until it was completed. But then, I heard Dr. Sidebotham ask for something that made my eyes pop open and sent chills of fear down my spine.

Rectal catheter.

What did she say? I thought I heard her say "rectal catheter".

"I'm sorry about this. Just like I'm using the tampon to see the exact location of the vaginal cuff, I need to insert a small catheter into your rectum so I can really see the bowel." Hmmm...wonder why no one warned me about this one.

Dr. Sidebotham moved into the imaging room and left Mary Ellen to do the dirty work. She walked over to the table with a long, red rubber tube. It wasn't very thick, and I was sure it wouldn't hurt. But I just wasn't in the mood to have that thing shoved up my ass. Call me crazy.

Mary Ellen tried a few times to insert the red rocket while I was lying on my back. She spread my cheeks and tried to find a good angle, but it just wasn't going her way. "Can you just turn onto your side a tiny bit?" she asked. I obliged, and very quickly, I felt the skinny tube making it's way up the hole that is only meant for things to come down.

I've been violated!

So, there I was. Picture it. I'm on my back wearing only a hospital gown pulled up to my boobs. The plastic mold was now locked into place from my thighs to my chest. I have a tampon hanging out of my front hole and a long, red tube hanging out of my back hole. Oh, if my friends could see me now! What a pretty picture this would make! But I wasn't really laughing.

All dignity was lost.

The table moved back and another scan was done. Dr. Sidebotham approved my position then left the room. Mary Ellen and Jean came back in and went to town marking the mold and my body with Sharpies. Holes were cut into the mold in a few spots in order to allow the radiation beams to get through during treatments. A large Sharpie "X" to mark the spots were drawn on my skin in each of the holes. Then Mary Ellen removed the tampon and rectal catheter and announced, "It's tattoo time!"

"How many will I need?" I asked. "Six. One on each thigh, one on each hip, one about four inches below your belly button, and one about four inches above it." Ha! I started the day with five tattoos and I'm gonna end it with 11!

Mary Ellen got everything ready and started on my left thigh. She stuck the needle into my skin and, "OUCH!" I jumped. "Yeah, it hurts more than a real tattoo!" I assured her. "I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "Only five more." Yes, I realize she was only putting one small dot in each location, but they were all very sensitive spots! The skin was broken and I was really bleeding. Not surface bleeding like when you get a tattoo; real bleeding like when you get attacked by a shark!

Ok, I'm being dramatic. It wasn't THAT bad. I think just the reason behind today's quick, tiny tattoos made them worse than the hours I've sat for a permanent masterpiece at a tattoo shop.

When it was all over, I jumped down from the table and put on my robe. Mary Ellen brought be back to the changing room and wished me luck before she vanished into the hall. I opened locker number 3, retrieved my clothes and got dressed. I walked out to the waiting room where Jimmi and my mom were chatting away, and sunk into a chair. "That sucked," I pouted. "Lemme see your tattoos!" Jimmi joked with a sexy smile. I frowned and shook my head, "I'll show you later."

We walked down the stairs into the foyer and out the front door. We each had our own car because we were all going in separate directions after the appointment. I kissed them both goodbye, got into my car, put the top down and drove out of the parking lot. My mind was blank. What did I just do? I still can't believe I'm really going through this. That this is really happening to me. It still feels like a nightmare and I keep trying to wake myself up. Someone, please wake me up!

Help me wake up!

An Unexpected Vacation...Sort Of

The last few days are a complete blur.

I really want to write a detailed account of everything that went on, but I'm not sure if my memory has retained it all. Here's my best crack at it!

Jimmi and I returned home from Sloan-Kettering's Urgent Care department at about 2:00 am on Wednesday, June 29th. All of my tests seemed to be normal, and there was no reason to keep me, even though I was still having severe lower back pain. 

After a few hours of terrible sleep, I got out of bed and started my day with a killer headache. The kids were coming back in a few hours and I needed to make sure I was feeling well enough to pretend I wasn't in pain. 

Dylan and Justin were dropped off at about 1:00 pm. I did my best to stand up straight, walk normally and smile. It wasn't easy. Luckily, my mom came in a few minutes later and took over my motherly duties, and I flopped onto the couch. My stomach started bothering me and I couldn't figure out why.

As my mom got the boys ready to go to their music lessons, I was quickly becoming more and more nauseous. Honestly, there's nothing I hate more than throwing up, and it was starting to get to that point. "Mommy!" I whimpered without fully opening my mouth. It's a habit I started when I was pregnant and sick all the time. Whenever I'd get that feeling of total nausea, I'd close my eyes and lie perfectly still. I'd try not to open my mouth too wide, for fear of vomit escaping. Usually it didn't work, but I'd try any trick I could to not throw up. My mom rushed over to the couch so she could hear me. "I'm so nauseous, Mommy. Please call Lisa at Dr. Leitao's office and see if I can take one of the anti-nausea medicines Dr. Gorsky prescribed for the chemo."

My mom looked at the clock. It was 4:55. The chances of Lisa still being in the office and available to answer questions were slim, but she handed me the phone so I could dial the number. "Hi, is Lisa still in?" I heard my mom say, then she walked into the laundry room and her voice became muffled. A few minutes later, she strolled back into the kitchen, still speaking on the phone. "Hi Lisa..." Oh, thank God, she's there! I thought to myself. I heard my mom tell her I was feeling sick, then I heard her start to list the anti-nausea medications I had, then she thanked Lisa and hung up.

"She said you can take this one," my mom said while handing me an oval-shaped, white pill. I immediately put it in my mouth, chugged some Gatorade, and closed my eyes again. "She said the UTI can cause nausea, and the antibiotic for the UTI can cause nausea and Vicodin can cause nausea." Awesome. It's a tummy trifecta! 

My mom told me to call her if I needed her, then got the kids into the car and left for music lessons. Not even five minutes later, my jaw loosened its grip and I was able to open my mouth again. I sat up and opened my eyes. It was gone! The nausea was gone! If that pill works as well when I'm on chemo, I'll be one happy girl! I called my mom to let her know I was ok. "Hooray!" I heard the boys screaming from the back seat. In fact, it worked so well, that on their way back from their post-music McDonald's trip, I asked them to bring me a chocolate milkshake and large fries. And I finished everything!

I woke up Thursday morning with the same lower back pain I'd had all week. I managed to make the kids breakfast, but ended up back on the couch shortly thereafter. The boys were worried, and I tried to play it off like I was just a little tired. Jimmi could see what I was really feeling and decided it was best to get the boys out of the house. "Hey guys, do you want to go to the driving range?" he asked with childlike excitement. "Yeah!" they both shouted and ran to get their shoes on. I looked at Jimmi with thankful eyes and he leaned over to give me a kiss. "I'll go tire them out. It'll be fun!" he said. And they were out the door. An hour later, Jimmi called. He had taken the boys to the driving range, then the bagel shop. Now they were on their way to the park to play basketball. Wow. Just when I think I can't love him any more than I already do, he proves me wrong.

I popped a Vicodin and stayed on the couch. What is wrong with me? Can't I have one day without any kind of pain?

Later that night, after the kids were in bed, I was sitting at my desk trying to write. My eyes were burning and my head was heavy. My lower back was still torturing me and my legs were achy. I noticed the thermometer sitting in front of me and picked it up. I pushed the button, held it on my forehead and waited for the beep. It spoke to me, "Your body temperature is 100.9 degrees Fahrenheit," said a female voice with a British accent. "What?!" I shouted. I took it again. Same result.

Shit.

I called my mom. "I have a fever. They're gonna make me go back to the hospital. I don't wanna go!" I cried. "Just relax. Wait a few minutes and take it again. Call me back."

Over the next half hour, I took my temperature every five minutes. When it got to 101.6, I knew I couldn't wait any longer. I called the answering service at Sloan-Kettering and waited for a call back from the doctor. I let Jimmi know we'd probably need to go, and I called my mom back with the same information. 

The kids are here. What will I do with the kids?

Just then, the boys' first babysitter, Jacqueline, who's been living with us for a few months, came downstairs. I explained the situation, and she said very calmly, "I'm off tomorrow. I'll obviously be here tonight, but I can stay with them until their dad picks them up tomorrow. Just do what you need to do." I thanked her and breathed a little sigh of relief. The last thing I wanted to do was rip them out of their beds in the middle of the night and drive them to their dad's house.

The phone rang. "Hi, it's Dr. Kam, one of Dr. Leitao's fellows. I hear you have a fever?" I explained my symptoms to her and she paused for a minute before she said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but I think we need to see you back here tonight." I glanced at the clock. It was 11:30 PM. "Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can," I forced out. I hung up the phone and slumped down in my chair. "What did she say?" Jimmi asked. "We need to go to the hospital again," I whispered. 

I called my mom to let her know. "We'll meet you there," she said without thinking twice. "No, it's ok. We can handle it," I assured her. "If they tell you anything or if something happens, I want to be there. We'll see you in a little while." And that was it.

I went upstairs and packed a small bag. I had a feeling they were going to want to keep me for a night. I quietly tiptoed into Dylan's room to make sure he was tucked in and to give him a kiss."Mom?" He startled me. "Dylan, why are you awake?" "I couldn't sleep. What are you doing?" Crap. Should I tell him the truth? What if he wakes up in the morning and walks into my room and I'm not there? He'll be scared. But if I tell him what's going on, he'll be scared too. Think! "Remember how I wasn't feeling well before you went to bed?" He nodded. "Well, I have a little fever, and the doctor thinks it'll be best if I go to the hospital and get some medicine. Jacqueline will be here with you and Justin, though, so you don't need to worry." His hazel eyes welled up with tears and his lip started to quiver. "But I don't want you to go to the hospital! Are you ok?" I stayed calm. "Yes, baby, I'm ok. The doctor just needs to have me come in for a different medicine. This isn't the medicine that will make my hair fall out. It's just regular stuff." Dylan reached up and wrapped his arms around my neck. "I love you so much, Mom. I want you to be ok." Maybe I shouldn't have told him. I feel terrible! "I love you too, Bud. I'm gonna be fine. I really need to go now, though. Don't worry. Try to get some sleep and you can call me as soon as you wake up in the morning, ok?" He sniffed a few times and nodded. I blew him another kiss and walked out of his room. Wow, that sucked. I really hope Justin's asleep. I slowly crept into his room and saw that his eyes were closed. I breathed a sigh of relief and walked over to the bed to pull up his covers. His eyes popped open, "Hi Mommy." I'm not doing this again. "Hi, Baby. I'm just tucking you in. Get some sleep. I love you." He closed his eyes and said sleepily, "I love you too. Good night." I kissed his cheek and left the room.

By the time we got out the door, it was 11:50 PM. I was exhausted and felt achy and just plain crappy, in general. Jimmi was driving, and I tried to close my eyes for a bit but the pain in my back wouldn't allow me to relax. Luckily, there wasn't any traffic, and we made it to the hospital in about an hour. 

It was like deja vu. We repeated the same steps we had exercised on Tuesday night until we got through the Urgent Care doors. Since it was after midnight, the crew in the main waiting area had left for the night. We were instructed to go straight back to the nurses' station to check in. One of the nurses we had seen on Tuesday night waved as she saw us walk in. Dr. Kam let them know I was coming, so they were expecting me. I was told to go to curtained-off cubicle number 10 and wait for a nurse. 

We were only in there a few minutes when a young, tall and amazingly handsome male nurse walked into my room. Wow! I looked at Jimmi and smiled. He just shook his head at me and laughed. He knew exactly what I was thinking. The nurse opened his mouth, and a deep, rich tone came out, "Hi, I'm Kerry (Carey?) and I'll be your nurse tonight." He wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm and stuck a thermometer in my mouth. Ok, sexy boy. You can be ANYTHING you want. Maybe we can even play doctor later?? "Hi, I'm Dr. Kam," said a voice that broke me out of my daydream. Kerry/Carey looked up at the doctor, "100.6," he said, then turned to me, "I'll finish up when the doctor is done with you." No, don't go! Don't you want to hold my hand? I'm really scared! Maybe you can even give me a hug and let me squeeze those biceps, and..."So, you still have a fever," Dr. Kam crashed my train of thought again! "I think we should keep you tonight so we can see what's going on. We got your urine culture back from the other day and it was negative." What? How is that possible? "I think we need to repeat the CT scan of the urinary tract to make sure the small pocket of fluid hasn't gotten any larger or become infected. I think we'll also start you on IV antibiotics and maybe even some fluids because you look a little dehydrated. Any questions?" Nope. I think she covered it all. I shook my head and she was gone.

Ok, Kerry/Carey! You can come back now!

But my parents came in instead. I pouted at my mom and she sat on my bed and started to scratch my back. I told them what the doctor had said, and since we knew we'd be waiting a little while for the CT scan, my dad decided to go to the lounge and read while Jimmi, my mom and I stayed in my cubicle.

All of a sudden, a sound broke through the silence and turned me white as a ghost. A man two cubicles from me was vomiting. But he sounded like he was going to die. The coughing and moaning and heaves went right through me. I started to physically shake. I curled up into fetal position and threw my hands over my ears. I could still hear him. I pushed down harder, but it didn't help. He's not stopping. Oh, my God! Will that be me when I'm on chemo? Is that what I have to look forward to? He kept going. I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes tightly together until the tears fell out onto my pillow. "Make him stop!" I cried quietly to my mom, "Please make him stop!"

It was literally a ten-minute long session of torture before he finally stopped. I was sweating and shaking and scared to death. I had to go to the bathroom, but was scared to leave my room because I didn't want to see him. I couldn't see him. I can't go through that. I don't want to go through that. My mom rubbed my back and Jimmi rubbed my leg until Erin, the familiar nurse from Tuesday night, entered my cubicle with blood collection supplies and an IV. "Sorry it took me so long," she apologized. "What happened to that guy?" Jimmi questioned. Erin made a face, but before she could answer I said, "No. I don't want to know."

As she looked for a vein in my arm, I told Erin that I only had one good one. "Are you kidding me?" she said. "You have great veins! Look at all of them! Have you started chemo yet?" I shook my head, "July 18th," I said. "Well, that's when you'll see how many you really have. Chemo isn't good for your veins. It really kills them. Have you thought about getting a mediport?" she asked. I knew she was talking about a little device that stays on your chest while you're going through chemo. It stays in place so the nurses don't have to stick you every time you go in for a treatment. The problem is, it doesn't come out on non-chemo weeks. It's there from the very first treatment, until the last cycle is over. For me, that will be four months. "No," I said sharply. "I don't think it'll go with my wedding dress." She looked at me with surprise. "I thought you two were already married! When's the wedding?" "September 3rd," I sighed. "No," she agreed. "it definitely won't go with your dress. You're right." Erin smiled and said, "Ok, I'm gonna start your IV." I saw that she was going for my forearm and I turned away, "It's gonna hurt!" I cowered. "Nah, I'm good! You won't even feel it." She was right! Then she put some tape over it and said, "The worst part is when they rip the tape off to get it out. Sometimes it actually hurts more coming out than going in." And without missing a beat, my 68 year-old mother shouted out, "That's what she said!"

Erin took a few vials of blood, then told me we just had to wait for a room and I'd be going upstairs. "What about the CT scan?" I asked. "I think they're gonna do it tomorrow since you're staying." "Oh!" Suddenly, I remembered the weird feelings I had after they injected me with contrast dye the other night. "Last time they gave me the dye, I felt like my throat was closing up, I got a red blotch on my chest and a terrible headache afterwards. Is that bad?" Erin looked concerned, "Yeah, you should probably mention that to them. They might need to skip the dye next time."

When Erin left, Kerry/Carey finally came back in. As he walked by my mom, I purposely looked at her face. Her eyes opened wide and she looked at me, motioned to him and mouthed, "Wow!" I giggled and mouthed back, "See? I told you!" Jimmi looked at both of us and shook his head. "You two are so bad!" Nurse Hottie did whatever it was he had to do with me - unfortunately, it wasn't what I wanted him to do - and left. Then Erin showed up with a wheelchair and we all headed up to my room on the 19th floor.

It was 3:00 am when I got to my room. I changed into my hospital gown, got into the horribly uncomfortable bed, and prepared myself for a sleepless night. The aide pulled out the chair-bed for Jimmi, and my parents went to sleep in the lounge. My nurse took my vitals and told me she'd let me sleep until 5:00 before she started my fluid drip. I closed my eyes and drifted off.

Before I even had time to dream, the nurse came back and hooked me up to an IV bag. That was the end of my sleep. At 5:15 an aide came to take my vitals again. At 6:00, I got up to pee. At 6:30, they brought me some medicine. At 7:00 Dr. Kam came in to check me out. Then I was up for good. She looked at my incisions, listened to my lungs and told me the plan for the day. I honestly have no idea what she said because I was still basically asleep. But then my hospital room phone rang. "Do you want me to hand that to you?" Dr. Kam asked. I nodded, confused about who even knew I was there and why they wouldn't just call my cell? "Hello?" "Hi Suzanne, it's Dr. Leitao." Oh, crap! I had my follow-up appointment with him that day and now I was going to miss it! Funny that the one day he has office hours in New Jersey, I'm in the hospital in New York. "I just want to let you know that I know you're there, so you obviously won't make it in to see me today. I think I want you to stay there for at least another night or two so we can get the fever under control and get all the blood cultures back. I'm thinking you probably won't go home until Sunday, though, because we like you to be fever-free for 24-48 hours."

What?! I figured I'd be there for a night. Not THREE nights!

"Ok," I said. What else could I say? "I know we were supposed to meet today so I could go over the pathology with you," Dr. Leitao continued. "I also know Dr. Gorsky told you what we found. Do you have any questions?" My brain wasn't working. "Yes, I have a million questions, but I can't think of them right now." Think, damnit! Think! "Do you think you got it all?" I asked. "Yes, we do. It was pretty contained to the area of radiation, but it was in that one lymph node, so I advise you not to wait too long to start treatments." Yeah, I've heard that before. "I'm starting on the 18th," I told him. "What stage am I in?" Before the surgery, all the doctors were going between 1a or 1b or some subcategory of one or the other. "Well, finding it in the nodes doesn't have any affect of the staging, but the fact that it was starting to grow in the parametria (tissues next to the cervix) means you're in stage 2a." I didn't say too much. Why wouldn't I expect more bad news? It's been a running theme with me for the last few months. I thanked him and told him I'd reschedule for next week so we could speak in more detail. He told me he'd be off for the weekend, but his partners and fellows would keep him updated on my condition at all times.

I glanced over at Jimmi, who was still sleeping in the chair bed. I swear, that boy can sleep through anything. Then I texted my mom in the lounge, "Are you awake?" She answered quickly, "Yup. Be right in." I could see that the bags under her eyes were a matching set to mine as she strolled into my room with a big smile on her face. "Good morning, Princess. How do you feel?" How can it be that I'm 36 years old, but still feel like a little girl when I'm sick and my mommy is around? "I'm ok, I guess. Dr. Leitao called. I might be here until Sunday." She thought for a minute, "Ok, then maybe we should send Daddy and Jimmi home for a bit to get cleaned up, and that way, Jimmi can bring you anything you need from home. I'll stay here with you so you won't be alone." Sounded like a good plan to me. 

Soon, my day nurse came in to introduce herself and start my IV antibiotic. "You'll get this every six hours at 9 and 3." She asked if I had ordered breakfast yet, then told me not to eat it until she checks with the doctor because I might need to fast for the CT scan. I then explained my reaction to the contrast dye, and she assured me that she'd let the doctor know that as well. 

My breakfast was delivered to my room about 9:30, and I called the nurse. "Do you know if I'm allowed to eat?" I asked. "Yes, the scan has been canceled. Go ahead." They canceled it? Awesome! But I didn't eat. I was so tired, I just drifted off to sleep.

"I'm here to take you for your ultrasound," said a voice that shocked me into consciousness at 11:00 am. "What? They said it was canceled." The medical transporter looked confused. "Hold on," she said as she walked out of my room. Both she and the nurse came back a minute later. The nurse explained, "The CT scan was canceled, but the doctor wants an ultrasound of your legs to check for blood clots. Sometimes they can cause fevers." Oh, ok. I've had ultrasounds before. Piece of cake.

She wheeled me down to the ultrasound room, making sure my bed bumped into every corner we turned. When we got there, a technician took over my care and started the test. She put the familiar blue gel on the ultrasound wand and lowered it down to my upper thigh. I cringed, waiting for the cold gel to touch me, and when it did, I was surprised, "It's warm!" I said a little too loudly. The tech laughed, "Yes, we use gel warmers." She continued to move the wand up and down my right leg, then up and down my left leg. When she was done, she wiped off the gel and said, "Everything looks fine. I don't see any clots." Yes! Good news!

Jimmi and my mom were waiting in my room when I got back. My dad had already left. "Ok, I'm gonna go now, Pumpkin. I'll be back later. Text me when you know what you want me to bring back for you." Jimmi leaned over and kissed me goodbye, then he headed home for a little while. My mom looked at me, "We need to get you up and walking. It's not good for you to be in this bed all the time." She's like a drill sergeant. No mercy!! I did as I was told and forced myself to get up and walk a few laps around the 19th floor. As we were passing by the elevators, I saw a sign with a picture of dogs in costumes. It said "Therapy Dogs". I remembered that the last time I was in the hospital for my surgery, I had asked about the dogs. The nurse had told me they come on Fridays. Today was Friday! "I want a therapy dog!" I exclaimed. My mom laughed and headed over to the nurses' station. When she met up with me around the next lap, she said, "Ok, I signed you up! They come between 1 and 3." I smiled and we kept walking. 

At 1:00, my mom and I went back to my room to wait. We watched TV and talked, and waited some more. The nurse came to check my temperature, which had been hanging in the 99 and change range all day. We asked about the dogs again. "Oh, they'll be here soon," the nurse said. At about 2:30, my friend Jacquie came to visit. She brought me hugs and tabloids; exactly what I needed! But still no dogs. "It's a holiday weekend," my mom said. "Maybe they're not coming." I pouted, "But they said they were!" I insisted. 3:00 came and went with no dogs. We asked a few more times, and all the nurses swore they'd be there. Finally, at 5:00, we gave up. I have no idea why I was so bummed over a visit from some dogs, but I really was. 

After Jacquie left, my mom mentioned that she had heard there was a terrace on the 15th floor where I could go outside and get some air. "Do you want to check it out?" she asked. "Sure. Air would be nice." We told my nurse that I wasn't plotting an escape, and we were just heading to the 15th floor. She nodded and off we went.

When the elevator opened four flights down, I saw glass doors marked "Patient Recreation". My mom and I walked through them, and down a green, carpeted ramp. There were other patients there doing crafts and playing games. There was another sign pointing to the patient's library, and another one leading us to the terrace. We walked out the automatic doors and the warm air hit my face. I walked to the railing, looked up at the blue sky and down at the busy street. There were a few people on the terrace, but they mostly looked like visitors. We sat down on some chairs and breathed in the smells of New York City. Luckily, we weren't at street level, so the stench of garbage and urine couldn't reach our noses. We stayed there for a little while, but being that I was wearing a hospital gown and robe to hide my exposed bottom, I got hot very quickly. When I started to sweat, we went back inside so my body temperature didn't get too high.

We got back to the 19th floor and ate dinner in the lounge. When we were done, my nurse took my temperature. "100.1," she said. "No! It's going back up!" She looked at me and said, "It's still not really what we consider a fever yet, but if you want it to go down, you need to walk!" 

Soon, my friend, Andi, and her fiance, Eli, walked into my room. "We were just about to go for a walk," my drill sergeant/mom said. "We like walks!" Andi grinned. As the four of us made our laps around the floor, my mom talked about our day. "We found out there was a terrorist downstairs," she said nonchalantly. What?? I didn't know that! How did I miss that? Andi and Eli looked terrified and they stopped walking, "What? Really?" Andi asked. My mom didn't seem phased by it. "Yeah, so we went down to see the terrorist..." I stopped her, "What?" She looked at me and seemed very confused. She tried again, "We went outside on the terrace. Remember?" Oh, my God. I started to laugh, "I thought you said terrorist!" Andi sighed with relief, "I heard her say terrorist too!" My poor mom just stood there with a funny look on her face, "TERRACE! TERRACE! I said TERRACE!" Andi and I were hysterical. "It still sounds like terrorist!" My mom gave a fake pout and said, "Verandah!"

We headed back to my room, and Jimmi arrived a few minutes later. My friends left and my mom headed to the lounge to rest. It had been a very long day. I got into bed and my night nurse came in to introduce herself, then said, "You have such beautiful hair. I noticed it as you were walking. It's so beautiful!" Ok, she's complimenting you, I said to myself. Don't be a bitch because she should know it's gonna fall out soon and telling me how nice it is just makes it worse. I controlled myself. "Thank you. Too bad it's gonna fall out soon." She looked a little thrown by my comment. "You know they can make a wig with your hair, right?" Hmmm, not really helping. "Yes, they've already cut some." I pulled back my hair to reveal a patch of short pieces underneath the long. "They cut it in four places like this." She looked surprised, "You mean your hair was even thicker than it is now? Wow! You have REALLY nice hair!" What the Hell is wrong with this woman?! All I could do was say, "Thank you."

I slept as much as I could between the nurses coming in and out of my room. Early Saturday morning, my mom went home to take a shower and get some things done. A little while later, the doctor came to see me and confirmed that I'd need to stay until Sunday because they'd be switching me to oral antibiotics today and needed to make sure my fever stayed down for 24 hours after the switch. I woke Jimmi and gave him the news, then I called my mom to tell her. "Ok, then I'll do what I need to do and we'll be back there in the afternoon." I hung up and thought for the millionth time how amazing my parents are and how lucky I am to have them. I got out of bed, saw that Jimmi had fallen back to sleep, and decided to go for a walk by myself.

I noticed that the pain in my back had just about disappeared, and I was feeling much better all around. When I looked down at my stomach, I could see that all of the puffiness that had been there only a day ago was almost completely gone. It actually looked like I had lost weight overnight. Maybe I really did have a weird infection. Maybe the pain and bloating weren't from the surgery at all. Maybe the IV antibiotics were exactly what I needed to make everything go away. Whatever it was, it seemed to be gone and that made me happy. It was the first time in almost three weeks that I was almost completely pain-free.

When I got back, I woke Jimmi again and showed him my stomach. "Whoa! It's all gone!" he said. "That's crazy!" Then I decided that I wanted to him to see the terrace - not the terrorist. We went downstairs to the 15th floor, but what I saw that day scared me. The recreation area was a bit more crowded than it was the day before. There were patients in every stage of treatments; most were hooked up to very large IV machines with multiple bags hanging from every hook. I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help it. These people were receiving chemo treatments. That would be me soon.

We walked out to the terrace, and almost every chair was full. To the left of us was an older man in a wheelchair. He was the only on besides me who didn't have an IV. In front of us, there was a man in his early 50s hooked up to a chemo IV. He was very thin and pale and alone. He seemed so sad. To his left, was a woman in her 50s with a catheter bag - also with a chemo IV. Her hair was short, but seemed to be thinning. She was talking to a friend or relative, and seemed to be feeling ok at the moment. 

But it was the table to the right of us that really got to me.

Two women, who appeared to be about my age, walked out to join their family members at the table. They were both connected to chemo IVs, and they were both wearing blue, medical masks over their mouths and noses. When they got outside, they were able to take the masks off. "How's the pneumonia?" I head someone ask one of the women. She just shrugged and tried to smile. She was very pale, and obviously wearing a wig. She had a mediport sticking out of her chest and her eyes were unhappy. The other woman seemed a bit better. She was very chatty, and I didn't see a mediport, just an IV. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and I could see that she wore it that way to cover the bald spots. I turned to Jimmi, "I need to go now. I can't be here anymore." He looked confused, but helped me up without any questions, and we headed back upstairs.

When I got to my room, I had to go to the bathroom. As I was sitting there, doing what you do in the bathroom, I looked into the toilet and saw bright red blood. Oh no. What's happening now? I had been spotting on and off from the surgery. Then there was the weird discharge from the UTI that apparently I didn't actually have. Now this. I left the mess in the toilet and called the nurse. I explained what had happened and we both went into the bathroom to have a look. She said, "Hmmm...Is it close to your time of the month?" My jaw dropped. Is she kidding? "Well," I said calmly, "since I don't have a uterus anymore, no, probably not." She looked at me and shook her head. "Oh! That's right. I forgot. Ok, let me go page the doctor." Are you kidding me, lady? Read my fucking chart before you talk to me so you don't make a stupid comment like that! UGH!!!

The doctor came in a few minutes later and checked the toilet. "It's normal," she said. "You're going to have spotting and bleeding for 6 to 8 weeks after your surgery. It will be more or less depending on your activity level, but as long as it's not an actual flow, you don't need to worry." 

Relieved, Jimmi and I sat down to watch "Borat", which we had rented from the hospital. Halfway through, our friend, Mike, who we hadn't seen in a year, came to visit. My parents followed shortly, and we all moved to the lounge. Everyone was talking and laughing and having fun, when all of a sudden, I started to sweat. My stomach started to gurgle and the pain began. Oh no! The stool softener and laxative regimen they put me on is working...right now! Oh, how embarrassing. Maybe I can just hold off for a few more minutes until Mike leaves for work. Ok, maybe not. "I hate to be rude, but the medicines they're giving me to make me go are working. I need to go." Mike hugged me goodbye and off I went in a cloud of humiliation...or maybe that was gas.

When I had finished, Mike was gone and Jimmi came in to check on me. The nurse also came to check my vitals. My temperature was still ok, which was good. Then she asked me if I had had any more bleeding. I told her I had, and asked her if it was normal if there was a small clot in it. "Yes, a small one is ok. If there's a large clot, that's not good." Then she went on for a bit about bleeding and clots, then turned to Jimmi and said, "I'm sorry to talk about this in front of you. These are problems women have. Men have some problems and women have others. But it's the only way women can make babies." 

Holy shit. Are you kidding me? She did NOT just say that!

This was the same nurse that asked me if I was close to getting my period. Now she's talking about making babies? Yeah, lady, I can't do that anymore either. What is WRONG with this woman? I couldn't wait until 7:00 when the nurses changed shifts. Stupid bitch.

My parents, Jimmi and I decided to order dinner from outside the hospital that night. We ate in the lounge and talked like we were dining at a restaurant. When we had finished, my friend, Ben, showed up to visit. After about an hour, I felt the same sweating and gurgling I'd felt when Mike was there earlier. Not again! Why does this only happen when I have company? I tried to wait, but once again, to no avail. I excused myself the same way I had earlier and left the room.

As I came out of the bathroom, the night nurse, Shelley was coming into my room. "There you are!" She said. "I was looking for you. I need to take your vitals." Shelley was a very pretty, young nurse with adorable pink eye shadow. She smiled when she spoke and she was upbeat and cheery. Such an improvement from the day nurse with diarrhea of the mouth. "Your vitals are perfect! If you need anything, let me know." I went back out to the lounge to finish my visit with Ben. 

At about 9:00, he and my parents all left for the night and Jimmi and I went back to my room. We got comfortable and watched "The Rocker" until about 11:00 pm. Shelley came in to check my vitals again and then said, "See you at 2!" I smiled, "I'll probably still be awake. I'm gonna try to write tonight." She looked interested, "Are you a writer?" she asked. "Well, I..." Jimmi interrupted me, "Yes, she is!" he said. I explained, "I'm writing a blog about my situation. It's a bit more complicated than just cancer. We're also getting married in two months." Shelley's eyes lit up. "Really? I love weddings!" 'Yeah," I said. "I hope I can even get married while I'm going through chemo." Her face fell. "Everyone is different with how they handle it, but attitude helps. Think positive." "I'm trying," I told her. "Hey, at least I won't need the wedding dress diet!" Jimmi made a disapproving face at my bad joke, but Shelley laughed. "You need to keep your sense of humor," she said. We spoke for a few more minutes and then I gave her my blog address. "I'm gonna go read it now. There are only three patients on the floor tonight, so we're not very busy."

It was nice of her to say, but I didn't really think Shelley would bother to read my blog. She doesn't know me. Why would she care? I finished a short update, and closed the computer. It was 1:40, so I figured I'd just watch TV and wait up for my next vitals check. At exactly 2:00, Shelley came into the room. "I was reading your blog out there. You're a great writer!" she said. "Oh, thanks. You like it?" "I really do! The other nurse keeps asking me what I'm reading because one minute I'm laughing and the next minute I'm crying. It's crazy! My favorite entry is the one about Jimmi. That made me laugh so hard!" She turned to Jimmi, who was turning red because now the nurse knew about his sperm bank experience, and said "I didn't know you were a drummer. That's really cool!" Then she looked at me and said with sincerity, "It's really great that you're doing this. It's also good for me to read, because sometimes we forget that patients have lives outside of the hospital. It makes me remember that people have a lot of other things going on other than just this." 

When Shelley left the room, I felt amazing. Not just physically, but mentally, too. It's one thing to be complimented by family and friends, but when it comes from a complete stranger, who is under no obligation to even read my blog, let alone compliment me, it takes on an entirely different meaning. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

At 6:00 am, Shelley was back for another round of vitals. She said, "So, I've been reading all night. I can't believe you have six boys and six girls frozen! That's so awesome! I'm gonna keep following you, so keep writing." And that was the last I saw of her during my stay.

When 7:00 rolled around, the day nurse came in to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Caroline (Carolyn?), and I'll be your nurse. Shelley told me you're getting married. That's great!" Wow, I really like Shelley. She made up for that other nurse 50 times over. But Caroline/Carolyn seemed very sweet, too. "Let me know if you need anything!"

I was startled awake by the doctor at 10:10 am. Wow, I can't believe I fell back to sleep for three hours. "Well, Suzanne, everything looks ok. We're going to send you home. Call us if the fever comes back or if you have any other problems. And make sure you follow up with doctor Leitao on Friday." 

Yes! I'm going home!

Jimmi and I packed up our stuff and waited for my prescription to be filled, then we wished everyone a happy 4th of July and got the Hell out of the hospital. For the first time in weeks, I sat in the car comfortably, without pain. There was a bit of traffic, but we made it home in a little over an hour. I walked in the door, hugged my dog and my cats, and immediately hit the shower. As I was drying my hair, Jimmi came up to check on me. "I made the reservation for 6:45," he said. "Is that ok?" "Perfect." I confirmed. I put on make-up and got dressed in normal clothes that were actually feeling a bit loose. After a stop at me ex-husband's house to visit my kids and reassure them that Mommy was ok...

Jimmi and I finally had our date night.

The Never Ending Week Continues...

When we left off last post, it was Tuesday night, June 28th, and my parents had just gotten to my room in the Urgent Care department at Sloan-Kettering in New York City. I had come in because of excruciating lower back pains and I was just awaiting my CT scan to check for possible ureter issues. And now, my story continues...

Just then, medical transport came to take me away to my CT scan. My parents stayed in my room and Jimmi escorted me upstairs. As I waited on a bed in the hall, a nurse appeared, "Suzanne? I just need to check your IV quickly before we start your test. She took a syringe of saline out of her pocket and lifted my arm to get to the IV connection. As she did so, her eye caught the diamonds sparkling on my left hand. "Oh, my God! Your ring is gorgeous!" she exclaimed. Then she looked at Jimmi with approval and he said with total seriousness, "Wasn't me!" The poor nurse's jaw dropped and her face froze with embarrassment. I smacked Jimmi playfully on the arm and he laughed. "He's kidding," I giggled. "Oh, ok. You scared me!" She was relieved, "So, when are you getting married?" My smile turned to sadness as I said, "September 3rd. And I start chemo and radiation on July 18th." I saw the nurse's face cringe with sympathy. "Oh no," she frowned. "Any chance you can change the date of the wedding?" I knew she meant well, but I wished people would stop asking me that. "Yes, probably, but I don't want to. I've been planning for a year." She gave a reassuring smile, "You'll be ok. Don't worry."

A few minutes later, the radiology tech wheeled me into the CT scan room. The first thing I noticed, which was different than any of the other equipment in the scan rooms I'd seen before, was a metal hanger with two giant syringes hanging upside down on either end. Each syringe was filled with clear fluid and each had a thin, curly tube attached to the end of it. It looked like something you'd see in a mad scientist's library. 

The nurse from the hallway came back into the room to explain the test to me. "I know you've had CT scans before, but this one is a little bit different. We'll take a few pictures, then we'll give you an injection of contrast dye followed by and injection of saline to flush it through. This helps us really see the urinary tract to make sure everything is in place. After the injections, you'll need to wait about ten minutes on the table before we take the next set of pictures. The whole thing will last about 25 minutes, but it might be a lot of waiting."

Sounds easy enough.

The hard, cold metal slab I was lying on started to move me into the scanner. I closed my eyes and heard the familiar, recorded voice, "Breathe in. Hold your breath. (10 second pause) Breathe." I followed instructions three times and then the nurse came back in. "We're gonna give you the injections now." She hooked up the first of the giant syringe tubes to my IV and I watched as the black plunger was automatically pushed and the fluid entered my bloodstream. I immediately felt warm all over. All of a sudden, it was hard to breathe. Oh, my God! My I'm having a reaction to the dye! My throat is closing up! My heart started racing and my eyes got wide, but before I could call for help, the feeling went away. 

Holy crap, that was scary.

"Ok, we're injecting the saline now." I turned and watched as the other syringe squeezed its contents into my body and I suddenly had an urgent need to go to the bathroom. Damn urinary tract infection! "Ok, now you just have to wait ten minutes. You can move your arms and your head and your feet, but don't move your butt. We need you in the exact same position for the next set of pictures."

Ugh!!

Have you ever had to pee so badly that it physically hurt? Now try to add being forced to lie still on your back on a hard piece of metal, a urinary tract infection and severe lower back pain to the mix. Needless to say, it wasn't my most comfortable ten minutes. But, finally I made it through and the test was completed. I was wheeled back out to meet Jimmi, and then back to my cubicle in the ER where my parents were waiting and I could finally get up and go to the bathroom.

As I was washing my hands, I looked into the mirror in the bathroom and immediately noticed a red blotch on my chest. "What's that?" I said out loud. I pulled down my hospital gown to check it out. It was bright red and about the size of a Saltine cracker. Wonder where that came from? Maybe I really was having a reaction to the dye. 

I went back to my bed and showed my mom. Immediately, my head started pounding and I had to call a nurse to give me something to take it away. Weird. That headache came out of nowhere. Since my back was acting up again, on top of everything else, I skipped the Tylenol and went right for a Vicodin. In ten minutes I'd be in another world and at least the edge would be taken off the pain. I turned on my side and my mom started rubbing the spot on my back that was giving me trouble. "Does it feel better when I rub it?" she asked. "Yes, which is strange since it's internal." My mom gave a look that told me she wasn't convinced. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe you hurt yourself and you didn't realize it." Then she looked at my dad and said, "It seems a little like your sacawilliac, doesn't it?" What did she say? Was I stoned from the medicine already? I started to laugh, "You mean sciatica?" She looked at me and asked, "Oh, is that what it's called?" My mom and I stared to giggle uncontrollably until I could speak again, "I think you were confusing Sacagawea and Celiac to make sacawilliac!" 

Finally, Dr. Long came back to my room. This time, she was dressed in street clothes and carrying a purse. "Are you leaving for the night?" I asked. "Yes, but I wanted to come and give you your results first, like I promised." I love people who keep their word. "So, the scan looked totally normal. No leaks and everything is connected where it should be. The only thing we saw was a small pocket of fluid by the left ureter which might be putting some pressure on the tube. That could be causing the pain." Oh no! What is it? Is it serious? "What kind of fluid?" I slurred in my Vicodin haze. "Well, it could be post-surgical fluid or maybe lymphatic fluid from when we removed the lymph nodes and everything started to drain. It's very small and there's nothing we would really do about it at this point. It should just go away on its own. I'm going to release you. Please call us if anything changes, if the pain gets worse, if you start vomiting or if you have a fever. But this is really the best case scenario with the symptoms you have."

We thanked her and she went home. I waited for the nurse to remove my IV, then my parents, Jimmi and I also left the hospital. I was still in a lot of pain, more than I should have been only 45 minutes after taking Vicodin, but what else could I do? The doctor had just looked inside my body and found nothing concerning. I guess I'd just need to relax and wait it out until the hurting stopped.

Too bad it wasn't that easy...

A Long Update That Will Be Continued...

I'm posting this blog now because I've had so many people asking where I've been lately. The truth is, I haven't been feeling well at all this week, and as many times as I've tried to write my blog, I just couldn't do it. Here is the first part of the long and winding road I've been on this week. I'll continue to write as soon as I can...

I thought I wouldn't have much to write about this week until Friday.

Silly me!

I woke up on Tuesday with an aching pain in the left side of my lower back. I shifted around and tried to find a comfortable position, but nothing helped to ease the discomfort I was feeling. Jimmi wasn't home, so I tried to rub the area myself and see if it made any difference. Strangely, it did, but only if I kept my hand on the questionable spot. Weird. It didn't feel like a muscle pain; it was definitely something inside. As the minutes passed, the throbbing got worse until it became unbearable. I knelt on the bed, bent over so my knees touched my chest, then I laid my head down and hugged my pillow for strength. 

"Oh, God, help me!! Why is this happening?" I cried out loud, though no one was there to hear me.

I didn't understand. Why do I keep having pain that seemingly has absolutely nothing to do with the surgery I had? My incisions weren't sore and I only had mild abdominal pain with a few shooters here and there. The worst part was the shoulder pain, and now this back pain has filled its place. I forced myself to breathe deeply and relax so I could fall back to sleep.

That didn't last long.

Maybe a shower will help? The warm water eased the agony for a little while. I got dressed in real clothes (instead of sweats and a t-shirt) for the first time since the surgery, and I even put on a little bit of makeup. After all, Jimmi and I were going to have a date night! But first, I suggested his and hers pedicures. I know, not a very manly activity for Jimmi, but since I still wasn't allowed to drive myself, he had to go with me anyway.

I needed to have my legs and feet rubbed so badly. It always relaxes me and makes me forget about everything else in my life. I sat in the oversized massage chair with the tub of warm water at my feet, leaned back and...

Oh, my God, I'm in so much pain.

My back started acting up again. I tried to aim the massagers in the chair to hit the area that was hurting, but it didn't help. I kept shifting around in my seat, trying to find any position I could stand, but it wasn't working. I guess one of the technicians noticed the uncomfortable look on my face, and the way I just couldn't sit still, so she offered me a pillow for my back.

It didn't help.

I texted Jimmi, who was two chairs away, and said, "I just want to go home." He looked at me with concern all over his face and said, "Let's go." But I thought I could make it through. That was before I realized that my nail tech was literally working on two speeds. Slow and stop. Normally, that wouldn't have bothered me, but today, it was like torture. With each rub of my foot, I'd cringe in pain. I was literally holding back tears and counting the minutes until I could go home and take a Vicodin. I actually wanted the medicine. I needed it.

When the torment was finally over, the technician walked me to the drying bay. "No," I said, "I just need to go home." Jimmi held the door as I walked out into the parking lot with my very wet, very pink toenails. "Oh my God, it hurts!" I screamed. "Ok, we'll get you some medicine," Jimmi reassured me. The ride home was agony. I felt like an addict who just needed a fix. We pulled into the driveway and I was out of the car before Jimmi even put it in park. I stumbled into the house, grabbed whatever bottle of liquid I could find in the fridge, popped open the Vicodin and swallowed it down. I walked, hunched over, to the couch and plopped myself down.

"Can you make the reservation later?" I called to Jimmi. For the second night in a row, we were supposed to have "date night". We had to cancel on Monday because I wasn't feeling well, but I was determined to get to The Melting Pot that night, even if I had to go there stoned. Yes, I knew that my eating habits had changed; I couldn't eat more than a few bites without feeling full and needing to stop. But I wanted to go out!

"Are you sure I shouldn't just cancel it?" Jimmi asked. "No! I want to go!" I insisted.

Ten minutes later, I was loopy and spacey, but the pain still hadn't subsided. "Ok, cancel it." I said sadly. It was almost 7:00 and I was starving, but it hurt too much to leave my couch. I picked up the phone and dialed the answering service at Sloan-Kettering. I listened to the pre-recorded voice giving me instructions over the phone. "This is an emergency, right?" I asked Jimmi. I hate bothering doctors after hours. I don't want to be one of those annoying patients who complains about everything. He nodded and I continued to hold for an operator.

"Hi, I'm one of Dr. Leitao's patients," I explained when she answered. "I'm having severe lower back pain and I'm not sure if it's from my surgery two weeks ago, or the urinary tract infection I have now." She took my name and phone number and assured me that the doctor would call me back in a few minutes. In the meantime, Jimmi heated up some leftover ziti my aunt had made for us and I forced myself to eat a few forkfuls, since it was the only thing I had been able to get down all day.

The phone rang. "Hi Suzanne, it's Dr. Long, one of Dr. Leitao's fellows. I was the one who woke you up every morning in the hospital." I remembered her. Young and pretty and sweet as could be. "I hear you're not doing too well. Tell me what's going on."

"Well, I have a UTI and the lower left side of my back is killing me. I took Vicodin a little while ago, and it took the edge off, but I can still feel it. I don't know if this is normal or not with a UTI."

"Are you having any leaking of fluid or discharge?"

I thought back to the start of the peeing in my pants episode the day before. I thought it had stopped that night, but I woke up Tuesday morning very unpleasantly. I'd been wearing a mini-pad all day to catch the leaks.

"Yes, I am."

"Is it clear fluid or blood?"

"Both. It's weird. It just started yesterday and the surgery was two weeks ago."

"How far do you live from the hospital again?" Then I got nervous.

"Any hospital or Sloan-Kettering in the city?" Of course she meant Sloan. "About an hour, depending on traffic."

"Ok, I think you should come in and get checked out by one of us. I'm on call tonight, so I'll be here when you get here."

"You need me to come now?" I looked at the clock on the oven and saw the bright, green numbers: 7:45 PM. I was so tired already. "Is it possible to wait until tomorrow or do you need me to come tonight?"

"Let me talk to Dr. Leitao and I'll call you back."

I called my mom while I was waiting for Dr. Long to get an answer. I hate worrying my mom. I know that every time I call her, no matter what the reason, her heart drops when she sees the caller ID. She immediately has to wonder if something's wrong, and this time, there was. I explained the situation and she was very calm. She told me to let her know what was happening and she and my dad would meet us in the city whenever we needed to go. "You don't have to come. Jimmi can handle it." I said because I didn't want to ruin her plans. She dismissed me quickly, "We'll be there."

Dr. Long called back soon after. "Hi Suzanne, Dr. Leitao would rather have you come sooner than later, if possible. He really wants you to have a CT Scan on your urinary tract. Lower back pain isn't really a common symptom of a UTI, and with the leaking and everything, and especially since it's only on one side, he really wants to make sure something didn't go wrong with the left ureter during the surgery." I didn't like how this was sounding.

"What does that mean?" I asked, terrified to even hear the answer.

"Well, we had to move the bladder around a lot during the surgery. The ureters are the tubes that connect the kidneys to the bladder. It's possible that with all the movement, one of the tubes was damaged and is leaking urine. Because you said you've been having some leakage, we really need to check it out."

Seriously? I don't need this right now. I just want to have date night! "Ok, we'll be there as soon as we can."

I hung up the phone, called my mom back and let her know what was happening, then Jimmi and I got in the car and started our trip into the city. "I don't want to do this," I whined. "If there's something wrong with the tube, they're gonna have to open me back up to fix it! I don't want them to do it! I don't want another operation!" Jimmi looked at me then turned back to the road. I could see the worry in his eyes. "Is that what they'll have to do?" he asked carefully. "Well how else would they fix something that's inside of me?" I snapped.

We made it to New York in 38 minutes. Apparently no one was rushing to the city at 8:30 on a Tuesday night, which made it an easy ride. We arrived at Sloan-Kettering and found the door marked "Urgent Care". I hobbled over to the desk, "Hi, Dr. Long said I should come in for a CT scan." The receptionist took my name and asked me to take a seat. Barely five minutes later, a nurse named Dan called me in to take my vitals and ask for the story of how I was lucky enough to end up in the emergency room that night. I gave him the information he needed, then I was bounced back to the waiting area to wait for another nurse to take blood and start an IV.

"Susan?" UGH!!! "Suzanne!" I said with the strongest tone I could before actual nastiness. I followed the nurse into an exam room and she asked, "Which arm can I not use?" Weird question. "You can use either one, but I only have one vein right in the middle of my right arm." She looked me over and said, "Let me show you a trick." Then she had me twist my arm around so the palm of my hand was facing upward, and she started tapping on my inner forearm. "You look like you work out, so we should find some beautiful veins," she complimented. "And there's one now! Oh, why are you here tonight?" Strange time to ask me that, I thought. "I'm having lower back pain and..." "Ok," she cut me off, "then you'll probably need a CT scan so I'll give you a larger gage needle for the contrast dye, that way they won't have to stick you again." Wow. Smart lady. "Yes, they are doing a CT scan," I said. She smiled and nodded knowingly. "Ok, a little pinch..."

"OUCH!" Ok, note to self: No tattoos on the inner forearm. That HURT! But it was over quickly and the IV was in. She took a few vials of blood and left the catheter in my arm for later use in the scan, or worse, in case I needed to be admitted. Then she flushed the IV with saline to clean it out. All of a sudden I smelled and tasted something weird. "Whoa! I think I just tasted that." I said. "Yeah, you can taste the saline when it goes through. Some people even smell it," she confirmed.

I was sent back to the waiting room for the third time in 20 minutes, but not for long. A red-headed nurse called my name and off we went. She took us to our curtained-off cubicle and instructed me to just remove my shirt and put on the gown. A doctor I had never seen before entered the room. "Hi, I'm Dr. Johnson. What's going on tonight?" I should've written it all out on notecards so I didn't have to repeat myself 400 times. After explaining my symptoms, he examined my belly, pressed down on my abdomen and tapped on my back. "Anything hurt?" he asked. I shook my head. He listened to my chest and back, asked a few more questions, then told me what the problem might be. Again, I heard about ureters and damage and leakage. "If that's what it is, how will they fix it?" I held my breath waiting for his response. "Well, worst case scenario, if the tube is disconnected or really damaged, a urologist will go in through the urethra and reattach it." Sounded horrible. But, wait, "Is that another surgery?" I questioned. "It's a procedure," he explained. "You won't need to be opened up again."

I could breathe again.

Dr. Johnson left the room after the exam and as he pulled the curtain aside, I saw a woman, probably in her early 50s, being wheeled into the next cubicle. As soon as she got close enough, I could hear the complaints start to spew, "Where are we going? What room are we going to? Oh, number 13? Oh, that's just great. Number 13. You've gotta be kidding me! I want to watch channel 4 but it's not channel 4 here, it's different!" Her husband, who I had already sainted, apparently turned on the TV to channel 4. No sooner had he answered her wish when she started again, "No! It's not channel 4 here! You don't ever listen to me! This is the BET Awards! BET is cable, I don't want cable! I want channel 4!" Well, whatever he turned on was so loud, it could be heard through the entire wing. I looked at Jimmi, "Are you kidding me? I don't ever want to hear you complain about me being high maintenance again!" I joked.

And she didn't stop!

An unsuspecting nurse walked into the devil woman's room and was quickly attacked by her claws, "What number is channel 4? I need to watch channel 4!" He backed out slowly saying, "Ok, ma'am, ok. I'm gonna go get the guide. I'm getting the guide." He barely escaped with his life as he walked by my room shaking his head and letting out a "Whew!" But the drama next door continued. "Oh, great!" she yelled at her husband. "Now you spilled it all over the floor! I told you not to bring it in here! It's all over the floor and the table!" He finally fought back with one ounce of strength, "Screw the floor! It's all over my pants!" The TV blared and the complaining escalated. "Are they gonna bring us a menu or anything? I'm starving!" 

I swear this woman thought she was in a TV lounge/restaurant instead of a hospital! Dr. Long arrived shortly thereafter to save me from the horrors next door. She gave me a warm smile, "Hey. How are you holding up?" I really like her. "Eh. I'm ok, I guess. No offense, but I'd rather not be here." "I know," she comforted, "but because of all the stress your bladder and the ureters have to go through during the surgery, Dr. Leitao really wanted to make sure everything is ok. There's a chance the pain might be from the UTI, but there's also a chance it's much more serious than that and we can't let it go." I nodded. Dr. Long proceeded to repeat the exam Dr. Johnson had done, then she asked me about the discharge and leaking I was experiencing. "Is it a lot?" "It's enough to wear a panty liner," I explained. "Are you wearing one now?" Her eyes were wide. I nodded. "Can I see what it looks like?" Eeewwww! This is reason number 7,898,999 I never became a doctor. She wants to look at the stuff that's coming out of me onto the pad! "Sure." I pulled down my pants as Jimmi quickly averted his eyes. She glanced at the brown-tinted, clear nastiness I'd collected and said, "Ok." I pulled my pants back up, Jimmi turned back to look at us, and Dr. Long continued, "I've already ordered the CT scan. It's a special kind that focuses on the urinary tract. It will tell us exactly what's going on and then we can figure out how to fix it. If you want me to personally deliver the results, I'd be happy to do that. And if I've already left the hospital, I'll call you with them." She's awesome. "Yes, I'd appreciate that," I said with complete trust.

Dr. Long left the room and Alex, a nurse with a curly, black ponytail and a tattoo on his neck walked in. "Hello!" he said cheerily. Before he could continue, the maniac next door started yelling about something else. Alex smiled and shook his head. "I know that voice," he said with a chuckle. "She's a regular, huh?" Jimmi teased. We all tried hard to block out the queen of complaints as Alex asked me a bunch of questions. Then he gave me a sterile cup and a piece of gauze dampened with Betadine and instructed me to "wipe first, front to back, with this. The pee a little into the toilet and finish in the cup."

I got up and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Two Hasidic Jews in full garb strolled by me on my way, and I heard the family of a patient in another cubicle laugh and say, "Look, they're taking over! I think they're going to get a third!" I tried to hide the shock on my face as I entered the bathroom and followed Alex's instructions. 

When I came out, I looked up at the front desk and saw my mom and dad. I waved them over and we all met at my curtain. They both kissed me, then my dad immediately went into story time with his new best friend, Jimmi. My mom and I looked at each other and shook our heads. As happy as their new relationship makes me fell, I still can't get used to it.

There is plenty more to my story this week, but I need to stop now. Hopefully I'll feel well enough to finish later today.