Rebound

Ah, these American suspense films !!!  At the first lull, we know that a rebound will happen; alien eaters of human flesh emerge from one astronaut’s welcoming interiors or zombies will appear in near-by windows to the sound of sudden loud music. I didn't think to live the equivalent of one of these dramas in the course of my medical treatment. I was to be ready for chemotherapy which was to begin yesterday, Monday. Hah!

I had an appointment with my oncologist Friday evening and another appointment for Monday morning. This monitoring made me feel as if I were preparing for a trip into space ! 

Friday evening, the cancer specialist began with good news ; the six lymphatic nods taken during the catheter procedure were all flawless! No cancer!

She still had the results of the MRI of my abdomen to read and she opened the document in our presence.

This MRI had been prescribed because the scanner saw a shadow on my liver and another on my gall bladder, perhaps a cyst on each of these organs, but not reacting as cancer tumors on the scan. She, however, wanted to see the area closer up than the MRI. She read the report and was silent for a while. The report pointed out that some tumors could be malignant, even though they did not seem so under the scanner.

After consultation with another colleague, a decision was made to go in and see. The chemo was rescheduled. On Monday morning, Irvin and I arrived at the Good Samaritan Hospital where I had had my first chaplain training in the summer of 2011.

On the program : a biopsy under local anesthesia. We thought it would only be a matter of one hour. Irvin had brought something to read and had in mind to settle in the waiting room. But—oh, no! The nurse explained that they’d keep me for five hours ! They prepare you and then the procedure takes 40 minutes. Then you must remain, resting on your right side, until the time is past when a hemorrhage is possible. But finally, the experience ended well. Sure, I’d have preferred not to be so conscious during the biopsy— to see in my field of vision the radiologist with the long syringe in his hand as he was close to puncturing my abdomen. That was a bit alarming, even with the light sedation which fogged my mind.

The period of recovery was very gentle. I had no nausea, as I had been premedicated by the nurse to whom I had told my recent misadventure. I had little pain despite the radiologist’s warnings that it might be «uncomfortable», a code word often used by the faculty to mention pain. I chatted amiably with the nurse, and then drowsed.  When I awoke, I was delighted that the anti-nausea medication had worked, since I’ll need it during chemo treatments.

This morning I felt in fine form, but I was not allowed to shower (not until evening). My abdomen is blue as a Smurf on the right side, also the color of antiseptic. The incisions are very small and covered by two small steri-strips and traces of markers.

I’ll hear the results tomorrow— Wednesday— with a new appointment with the oncologist. To be followed… 

Thank you Phyllis, for the great translation! J