May 15, 2009

I’m Tired of Being Brave

Posted in Health, Life, Personal tagged Cancer, crying, CT-Scan, emotions, Primary Peritoneal Carcinoma, realization, scared at 5:43 pm by pdxfirefly

Yesterday, I had a CT-Scan in preparation for my upcoming surgery.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with this test… it is a painless test and there is really nothing uncomfortable about it.  I have had several CT-Scans before over the years and they have all been very routine and matter of fact.  I have always driven myself there, sat in the waiting room alone reading the available magazines, had the test done, and driven myself home without incident.

Yesterday was different.  After I checked myself in at the hospital Radiology Department, I sat down, and the beautiful, sweet, young  Hungarian Nurse greeted me with my “special drink” of contrast dye for the exam.  Since the giant sized cup of liquid was cold, I knew that I’d get easily chilled;   I asked her for a blanket.  She brought me a heated blanket.   Heated blankets are the one great benefit of hospitals and my doctors office.  They even have a special “Blanket Oven” to keep them warm for us!

So here I am sitting in the Radiology waiting room.   My feet are numb and hurting because of the neuropathy – so I scope out the room and find a hassock to elevate them  — but they still hurt.  I am chilled but covered in a warm white blanket.  My hairless head is wrapped  – turban style- in one of my pretty scarves.  I actually applied make-up before I left home, but I don’t feel pretty today.

  Today I suddenly feel very un-brave.  There are numerous dear friends that I could call and they would be there in a minute to sit with me, but I feel that I should be able to go through this alone.  It is after all, just a simple , painless X-ray type test — and one that I’ve had several times before.   Why then am I feeling all of these emotions?   And why am I feeling so very sad?

I ask the receptionist for a Kleenex;  she lifts the box toward me and I take two , three of them, suddenly feeling even more sad, feeling the tears starting to well up behind my few remaining sparse, mascaraed eyelashes.  I return to the “nest” that I have carved out for myself in  a little corner of the waiting room .  I settle in to the mini sofa with my blanky and my Kleenex and my cold drink of contrast dye and know that I can hold the  tears back no longer.  I don’t care if I mess up my make-up.  I don’t care if someone notices.

  I start to cry in that quiet sort of pitiful pathetic way that children cry when they are just “out of sorts” and don’t know why.  And that is exactly how I am feeling….  pathetic, pitiful, and very much like a little girl with no “one to watch over me” and totally “out of sorts”.   And so I just quietly sort of boo hoo a little bit while I feel sorry for myself.  I am tired of “being brave.”    I don’t want to have cancer anymore.  I want this to be over.  I want it to never have happened.  Many friends have called me courageous and I have discounted this assessment of myself, because I am just doing what I think anyone would do.  They say no, but I still don’t believe them.   Today, I realize that there is some truth to what they have said;   because today, I am no longer brave.  Today, my courage is gone.  Today, I am feeling sorry for myself.   Today Portland Firefly realizes that she is really sick and this is not going to go away easily.     She cries sparkling tears, that wash away her make-up except for the glob of mascara that settles unnoticed near the end of her nose. 

  The sweet nurse appears again and sits down next to me and quietly asks if there is anything she can do, is there someone she can call for me?   I quietly tell her no.  She notices the mascara glob and guides my Kleenex to remove it.    I confide in her that I am tired of being brave.  She tells me that I don’t have to be brave,  and that is a realization and a relief .  I start to calm down.  She asks if I want another blanket.  I respond,  ”Yes, I ‘m still cold.  That would be nice;   thank you.”  And she obliges and we talk for a few minutes after which I tell  her that I’m OK and I’ll be fine.  She returns to the as yet unseen insides of the Radiology Department.

I’m Ok for just a few minutes,  then the tears start again.  Now I go and get the whole box of Kleenex for my own use.   I settle back in and boohoo some more.  Then a kindly lady who just exited the Radiology Dept with her much older husband sees the crying turban- scarf head and the Kleenex.  She whispers a few words to her husband and comes over to Portland Firefly.   She is kind and gentle in her words and demeanor, asking me if there anything she can do.    I can only respond with a negative shake of my head.   She tells me she knows what I am going through and gives me encouragement.  We visit for a few minutes until I thank her and she then knows that I’ll be alright and it is OK for her to leave with her husband.

Soon, the Nurse comes and get me.   I have been waiting for almost an hour drinking the cold contrast liquid.  Now I am escorted back to the plush private dressing room with the wooden lockers and upholstered chair.  It was almost worth the wait.  But then I notice a cup filled with liquid. Groan. More Contrast liquid.  I ask ” Is that for me?”  She says yes. ” Please drink half of it now and I’ll have you drink the rest in a few minutes after we get your IV inserted.  We need for you to have contrast in your stomach when we start the scan.” I comply and then take my clothes off (thinking of my metal high school lockers) and pull open the drawer with the hospital gowns in it.  I soon discover that they are all size XXXLarge gowns.  All sense of fashion is now gone as is my make-up, which the too-close mirror confirms.  I look sad and tired…  and I am.

I pull back the curtain, just as she appears to see if I am ready to go to the lab for my IV.  I tell them that I have my Portacath and ask if they can use it?  They say yes after confirming that I have a “PowerPort”.  Don’t ask me…I don’t know what the difference is, but it must be special.  The nurse escorts me to the far back chair – the most private one in the lab and I am silently grateful for the privacy.  I am having a hard time today and she knows it.  Finally the lab nurse inserts the special needle into my Port and does what she needs to do.  They leave the needle in because I am going to my Doctors office for my weekly blood draw right after I leave the Hospital and this way, they only have to insert the device once instead of twice.

Next, I am escorted into the C-T Scan room.  I am instructed to lay down on the “bed” with my feet toward the machine.  “Would you like a wedge for your knees?”  “Yes”, I reply, “thank you”.  Next, I am to put my arms over my head.  The beautiful nurse tells me that it will take about 7 minutes and that she will come back in and tell me when we are half way through the scan.  I thank her again.  I put my hands over my head and she positions them, but I hold onto her hand for a few minutes.  I need to know that someone is on my side.  She intuitively knows that I need this human touch and holds tight to my hands for a few minutes. Then it is time for the scan. 

This scan is very important for my Doctor, for it will tell her what is going on inside of me.  It will be the guide for her to do what she must do to help cure me of this horrible cancer.  That is, if cure is even a possibility;  realistically, I don’t think it is .  Buy me time, definitely.  Time is what I want right now.  Time to maybe see another Grandbaby born, time to attend another Grandbaby birthday party, maybe even see my Grandson attend his first day of School in 5 years.  After that…. Who knows….  Let’s get through this surgery first, then we’ll know more.

The Scan is completed quickly.  I am returned to the dressing room and told that I can leave after I get dressed.  As I walk out of the hospital toward the car, I remember that now I must stop by the doctor’s office for my blood draw.    Since it is a beautiful sunny day, I stop by the grocery on the way home. But once I get in the house, I am exhausted.  After putting away the groceries, I get into my jammies and collapse into the recliner until it is time to get into bed.

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