I had a scheduled CT scan today. Routine. I try not to worry about them, but it happens. Just driving into the parking lot gives me a nauseous feeling as the memories from all those chemo treatments flood back into my mind.
To get a scan, I must get my port accessed for blood work to check kidney function and to leave an access point for the chemicals that will be flushed into my bloodstream during the scan. That must be done in the chemo room and only certain nurses can do it. My last chemo treatment was March 14, 2012. Seems like yesterday. My visits there are still like the TV sitcom, "Cheers", when I go in....everybody knows my name.
While I was waiting, I saw a sign that said:
If you are 55-74
Are you a current or former smoker?
Do you have a family history of lung cancer?
If you answered yes to these questions you may be eligible for a new screening process.
Contact your physician for further information.
Think of the lives that one sign may save. It's been three years since John was going through his ordeal. When we finally found out what was wrong, the cancer was so virulent that we barely had time to take a breath before he was gone. He had a complete physical in May, just a month before, with good results. Got first initial symptoms in late June and died November 2. Makes my head spin to even think about it now.
Back to my procedure. Chemo room was full today, but I found a place to sit for the first part of my procedure. After getting my port access and blood drawn, I headed back to radiology and started drinking the two large cups of stuff that will light up my insides if there are cancer cells.
My appointment was at 10:30, but they didn't call me back till nearly 11. While I was waiting for my turn in the CT room, I noticed a young man waiting for his wife. I can only assume that it was his wife. He was wearing a uniform from a local tire company with his name on it, so I thought he might have gotten off work to come with her. He had on a wedding ring and was holding a woman's purse. He was young, maybe in his mid thirties, but I could tell by his expression he was worried. He kept looking at the door to the procedure room and wiggling his foot. I've had so many of these done that I don't think about it as much now. But I could see he was concerned. His wife came out in a few minutes, they hugged, and my name was called. Pray all will be okay for them, they looked like a sweet, young, couple.
After I had the scan, it was back to the chemo room to have the port access removed. The nurse helping with my port access removal was what they call a floater. She goes where ever they need her and today, it was the chemo room. One of the chemo nurses had a family crisis and another was on vacation, so, she was filling in. She readied all of the tubes and syringes for the removal. Over the years I have been dealing with all of this, I have found it easier to just not look at what they are doing. I know the drill, just don't look. As she took out the needle from my port, I looked and realized she had not flushed it. "Did you flush it with heparin?" I said. She had this look of horror on her face. "Oh no, I didn't, I am so sorry," she said. So...now she had to put the needle back in, and go through the whole process again. The heparin and saline flush are important so a clot does not form and cause it to close off. It hurts when the needle is pushed in and though I did think about not saying anything, it was something that had to be done. I'll be back next Wednesday for the scan results and get the port accessed again for more blood work. She got the needle back in, flushed the port, and bandaged me back up. She apologized again, and I was on my way. As I walked out of the chemo room, I ran into Dr. Lee. He was John's oncologist. It made my heart race to see him. "How are you doing? You look great," he said.
So many memories flood back into my mind when I enter that building. Too bad so few of them are good.
Wheels a little wobbly, but my wagon is still rolling...thankfully.
PCQ
To get a scan, I must get my port accessed for blood work to check kidney function and to leave an access point for the chemicals that will be flushed into my bloodstream during the scan. That must be done in the chemo room and only certain nurses can do it. My last chemo treatment was March 14, 2012. Seems like yesterday. My visits there are still like the TV sitcom, "Cheers", when I go in....everybody knows my name.
While I was waiting, I saw a sign that said:
If you are 55-74
Are you a current or former smoker?
Do you have a family history of lung cancer?
If you answered yes to these questions you may be eligible for a new screening process.
Contact your physician for further information.
Think of the lives that one sign may save. It's been three years since John was going through his ordeal. When we finally found out what was wrong, the cancer was so virulent that we barely had time to take a breath before he was gone. He had a complete physical in May, just a month before, with good results. Got first initial symptoms in late June and died November 2. Makes my head spin to even think about it now.
Back to my procedure. Chemo room was full today, but I found a place to sit for the first part of my procedure. After getting my port access and blood drawn, I headed back to radiology and started drinking the two large cups of stuff that will light up my insides if there are cancer cells.
My appointment was at 10:30, but they didn't call me back till nearly 11. While I was waiting for my turn in the CT room, I noticed a young man waiting for his wife. I can only assume that it was his wife. He was wearing a uniform from a local tire company with his name on it, so I thought he might have gotten off work to come with her. He had on a wedding ring and was holding a woman's purse. He was young, maybe in his mid thirties, but I could tell by his expression he was worried. He kept looking at the door to the procedure room and wiggling his foot. I've had so many of these done that I don't think about it as much now. But I could see he was concerned. His wife came out in a few minutes, they hugged, and my name was called. Pray all will be okay for them, they looked like a sweet, young, couple.
After I had the scan, it was back to the chemo room to have the port access removed. The nurse helping with my port access removal was what they call a floater. She goes where ever they need her and today, it was the chemo room. One of the chemo nurses had a family crisis and another was on vacation, so, she was filling in. She readied all of the tubes and syringes for the removal. Over the years I have been dealing with all of this, I have found it easier to just not look at what they are doing. I know the drill, just don't look. As she took out the needle from my port, I looked and realized she had not flushed it. "Did you flush it with heparin?" I said. She had this look of horror on her face. "Oh no, I didn't, I am so sorry," she said. So...now she had to put the needle back in, and go through the whole process again. The heparin and saline flush are important so a clot does not form and cause it to close off. It hurts when the needle is pushed in and though I did think about not saying anything, it was something that had to be done. I'll be back next Wednesday for the scan results and get the port accessed again for more blood work. She got the needle back in, flushed the port, and bandaged me back up. She apologized again, and I was on my way. As I walked out of the chemo room, I ran into Dr. Lee. He was John's oncologist. It made my heart race to see him. "How are you doing? You look great," he said.
So many memories flood back into my mind when I enter that building. Too bad so few of them are good.
Wheels a little wobbly, but my wagon is still rolling...thankfully.
PCQ
