Second Verse, Same As the First

It didn't work.

I suspected as much, a few days after the procedure, when the pain came back. There was the "getting over the soreness the procedure caused" pain, and then there was the regular pain, yet it was fairly simple to realize that latter shouldn't have been there. Then there was the fact that when I palpated the lymphocele itself, it was hard again, whereas it had been all soft and mushy---the way it's supposed to be normally---right after the procedure. I called into Dr. Academic's main nurse, talked to her about it, and, since I already had a CT scan scheduled for the 25th, we decided it would be best to keep that appointment, to confirm or deny my diagnosis.

So, last Tuesday, after my volunteer shift, I checked in for yet another CT scan---this time with the added joy of contrast! If you've ever had a regular CT scan, you'll know that it's like having an X-ray taken, but instead of holding still while they shoot a still picture, you have to hold your breath while they run you in and out of a donut a few times. In other words, it's fairly painless, and leaves you with you an odd craving for Krispy Kremes. The contrast, however, adds the sprinkles to the donut. You have to take oral contrast at three specific times before your appointment, but then when you go in for the actual appointment, they insert yet another IV, and then, while you're being scanned, they shoot you up with more contrast, which, I have to tell you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, isn't a whole lot of fun, even if it is over with quickly. You feel three things when they inject the contrast: a full body flush; a nasty copper-ish taste in your mouth, that reminded me of having a mouthful of blood; and, finally, the urge to pee REALLY BADLY, like when you're on a road trip, you've drank a soda and there are no restrooms for a hundred miles and you're really tempted, despite being a lady, to pull over and relieve yourself in the weeds. Fortunately, these lovely side effects were over in few moments, and once I stopped bleeding from having the IV removed (more advil is the culprit) I was out the door a little over an hour after I'd checked in for the procedure. After it was over and done with, I was happy, but I wasn't anxious about the results: the thing had either filled up again, or it hadn't, and, either way, I'd find out in a week, which was my next scheduled appointment with Dr. Academic.

Yesterday, again after my volunteer shift (I prefer the one-stop-shop), I humped it over to Dr. Academic's office, only to find out, after I'd filled out the required check-in slip that Dr. Academic had moved his practice. What? If I'd bothered to look at the sign listing out all the occupants outside the main door, I would have noticed his name was no longer on that list. But I hadn't, so it was news to me that he'd moved. Fortunately for me, however, he hadn't gone very far: just down one floor, into a larger office, that he now shares with a thoracic surgeon. It's their first day in the new office, so, obviously, they're still working the kinks out. I schlep myself down to that office, then schlep myself back up to the main office, to the lab, where I had blood drawn, then it's back down the stairs we go, for the endless wait that usually accompanies visits to Dr. Academic. By the time he enters the exam room, a little over an hour later, he closes the doors, wearily leans back against it, lets out a long sigh, and says, "It's filled up again."

Somehow, I resist the urge to reply, "No shit, Sherlock."

He quizzed me about some numbness in my left thigh I'd felt after my surgery until about December, which, magically, reappeared after the first draining. We chat about the pain it's causing. (He suspects the lymphocele appeared right after the surgery and this was causing the numbness all along.) And then we decide that the best thing to do in this circumstance is to have the procedure I thought I was to have originally---where they drain the lymphocele, much like last time, only after that the radiologist will insert the caustic agent of her choice (it'll either be alcohol, or talc, or perhaps something else), shift me around a few times to make sure it hits all the high points within, and then, supposedly, the lymphocele will fill up with scar tissue, but should also shrink considerably. This is supposedly the silver bullet that will solve the problem. The procedure is technically called "CT guided drainage with sclerosis." There was some bit about "on the left iliac chain" in there, too, but I didn't write that down, so it's lost to the shifting sands of my memory. I'm scheduled to have this done on Monday, April 7th, and hopefully it will work, because I really don't know where we go from there if it doesn't, and as I'm fearful that it would probably include surgery, it had better work. Fortunately, this procedure is, like the last one, outpatient. Second verse, same as the first.

This, my devoted Cake Eater readers, is why there's been a dearth of decent posts around here for the past couple of weeks. I'm in pain. Is it as bad as the pain that caused me to go running to the hospital in the first place? No. It's not anywhere remotely near that level, thank God, but pain is pain. It distracts you and, no matter how many drugs you take to deal with it, it wipes you out. It sucks your energy away, like a runaway Dyson. Life becomes a slog, instead of this joyful, better smelling and looking experience it was supposed to be after I was declared to be as close to cured as I'm likely to get. It not only represents a big mental shift (I was supposed to be DONE WITH THIS SORT OF THING, HELLO!), it just takes you right back to where you don't want to be: being physically incapacitated. You'd think I'd know by now that's it's a baaaad thing to write when I feel like this, that I just drive people away with my weirdness, but, alas, I just want things to continue apace, so I write, because that's what I do. I've spent enough time being sick, in pain, and not being productive, and I just want. it. to. be. over. with. Hence, you, my devoted Cake Eater readers, get screedy posts that make no sense, and I'm sorry for that. I should just keep to the one liner posts in circumstances such as this. I suspect I won't be posting too much over the next few days, just because my drug of choice, Advil, is now off the list of things I can take to deal with this, and you shouldn't have to suffer the consequences.

And now? I'm off to take a vicodin, of course, because that's one of the few things I can take now. Good times, no?

Posted by Kathy at April 2, 2008 12:52 PM | TrackBack