Iron Man Saved The Day

One day before my lymph node biopsy, and I have already had a major break down. I knew from the moment I got my schedule of this whole ordeal that this week was the first week of this hellish month. It started off easy with simple blood work, CT scan, heart ultrasound, a trip to see a dermatologist and an endocrinologist...all things I was able to do on my own. This was just the calm before the storm.

I left the house, with my mom, at 6:30 in the morning in order to reach NIH by 8am (traffic's a killer when you live out in the country and have to go into the city). I dressed for the occasion with my Deadpool socks on...the thought of "get it over with" racing through my mind. First I had a PET scan...I've lost count as to how many of these I have had in the past. For those who don't know what the protocol is, you are taken back into a room where they test your blood sugar (the finger prick test) and then hook you up with an IV. Next thing you know, they are giving you an injection of radioactive tracers and then they leave you alone for an hour so the tracers can work their way around your body. Then after an hour goes by you go and get a full body CT scan. This whole process takes about 2 hours. 

Anyway, I was getting my IV hooked up, and for some reason I started to become anxious and teary-eyed. When the technician (who looked to be in his 50's) asked me what was wrong, I told him that I was very nervous and quite scared about my upcoming clinical trial this next week and how it's incredibly risky. He then responds with "I know how you feel...my mother is having heart problems and will have to do a clinical trial"...my jaw almost dropped, and not because of his mother. First of all, you don't tell a cancer patient "I know how you feel" because 99% of the time YOU DON'T. Every cancer case is different and everyone handles it in their own way. Secondly, he was comparing me, a 24 year old facing a terminal diagnosis, to his mother who I would assume is over the age of 65...WHAT?!?!? That was enough to set me off first thing in the morning.

After I got through my PET scan and met up with my mom in the cafe for a light brunch, I had to make my way back to the radiology department where a nurse could check my veins to see if they would be ok for the upcoming trial. Now I had been told by the research nurse a few days ago that I will most likely not have any complications here and have no need to worry...therefore I didn't think much of it when I walked over to the appointment. Unfortunately...the moment I sat down and the nurse looked at the veins in my arms and hands, she told me that they wouldn't be able to put catheters into my arms for the clinical trial...instead I would need to have a catheter line surgically inserted into my neck or groin the Monday morning before I start the 4-6 hour long clinical trial procedure.

At this point I had just about had it. I pulled my beanie over my head so no one could see the pure anger heating up on my face. I literally wanted to scream. Here I am, trying to be strong, trying to be brave, doing what I have to do in an attempt to save my life...and yet it feels like no matter what I do, nothing can stop this snowball of bad luck/news from growing. I'm already trying to wrap my head around the fact that despite having a chemo port implanted in my chest, the folks at NIH want to put a picc line (an implant catheter) into my arm for extra measure. Now I have to go an extra mile to get ANOTHER procedure to get a catheter placed in my neck. Not to mention I still have no idea what the timetable is for this upcoming week, I don't know my odds, and my family is struggling with the possibility of my having complications. I immediately broke down and I wish I had a pillow to scream into.

Finally I had one last appointment for the day...an MRI. I had only had one of these before and it wasn't a pleasant experience as my ear plugs fell out half way through and the technician didn't want to stop to help. I had to lie still with the clanging noises blasting in my ears while stressing over the thought of having cancer at the age of 22. When I was brought back to get my second IV hooked up for the scan, I told the tech everything that had happened before. I was kind of an emotional mess remembering that and also because of what had happened at the last appointment. He was very quick at reassuring me by giving me a buzzer to press in case that should happen, so they could stop the scan and help me. He then put my ear plugs in and placed a rather comfy set of headphones over top. I joked saying, "You should hook up some music to these!"
To which he replied ,"No problem! What music do you want us to play?"...in disbelief I said ANYTHING!!! He laughed and asked me what genre of music I like to listen to when I'm down. I blurted out classic rock. All of a sudden I started hearing music in my ears...and through the welled up tears I started to laugh as well. The moment came when I was told the scan was going to begin and just as the table started rolling me into the machine I heard it.....
"*click* *click* *click* *click* I AM IRON MAN!!!!".....I found my strength again.

I left that appointment feeling so much better thanks to the AWESOME experience the technicians gave me. I even gave them high fives on the way out. Not only was this day ending on a better note, but it gave me new confidence going into this. This month is only going to get harder, each day being more difficult than the last. I'll admit...I'm scared, vulnerable, and still worried about what the future holds for me if I have one, but I'm going into this clinical trial with guns blazing and a determination to fight.

That being said...there's one thing I want to discuss before I end this post. In the past several days I've been getting a lot of people acting like I'm already on death's door...just so you know, I'm still kicking and walking on my own. I also deal with people who CONSTANTLY tell me to stay positive and don't stop fighting....as if I haven't been positive for the past two years! I never stopped staying optimistic and I have NO intention on stopping this fight. The one thing I can't stand more than that, is the people who are delusional or in denial about the severity of the situation. I am in a spot where if I don't do anything, I die...but if I go into this clinical trial there is also a 50/50 chance of dying as well...only quicker. Now I am hoping that I pull through and survive, but I'm not going to dismiss the feelings I have about the possibility of dying and just pretend that everything is hunky-dory. So to address these people and pretty much everyone...if you want to talk to me, then talk to me as if cancer doesn't play a role in my life. Talk to me like I'm still Maddie, because believe it or not, I still am. And especially don't tell me things like "oh I can't believe it's as bad as you say it is" or "you're going to be cancer-free soon enough"...it honestly doesn't help me to think like that. I think I might elaborate a little more on this topic in my next post...and if all goes well, I plan to write even more often this coming up week and the next. For now, I need to call it a night as I have my 4th lymph node biopsy to go to at the crack of dawn....yay....