My Buster, he's the best

On Friday I had my breast MRI.  It was really quite awful.  I went into the same place that did my mammograms and ultrasound and waited in a room full of little old ladies.  It was a bit disturbing to me to realize how many of them were there for their first mammograms in life.

The ladies at the women's diagnostic center have seen me so much, and in such a short amount of time, that they recognize me when I come in.  They fill out my paperwork for me.  They tell me they are sorry to have to see me again and hope I won't have to come again soon.  All the old ladies look at me and try to figure out what is wrong.  The crazy thing is, nothing is wrong with me, at least not that we know of yet.  I'm still waiting to hear.

Once I got called back I had to change out of all of my clothes and into a huge gown.  Big is better than small though, that's for sure.  Then I went to have an IV run.  I didn't realize I would need contrast before I was taken to the IV chair.  The nurse promptly asked me if I had had all of my veins surgically removed.  I could feel her getting tense over the prospect of having to stick me.  Finally she called someone else over who also didn't want to stick me, but did.  She ran the IV in the back of my left hand and had fewer problems than she thought she would with it.

I was taken into a standard looking MRI room but with a very strange looking MRI device.  You can see the Aurora Breast Imager here.    You lay on the table face down, with your breasts hanging free beneath you, boy oh boy is that weird.  They slide you into the MRI machine feet first but you do go all the way in.  Not cool for someone who is claustrophobic like I am.  Then they start up the terrible, awful, very bad, loud noise.  That lasts 15 minutes, they inject contrast, and you get another 30 minutes in the machine.  I did not like it, not one bit.

I was told I would hear something on Friday or today, but I don't know anything at all yet.  The care my husband has been taking with me has really helped though.  Friday afternoon he came home from work with two dozen roses.  He knew when I came back from my MRI (he was watching the kids) that I wasn't having a good day.  Knowing he noticed and wanted to cheer me up went a long way to doing just that.

The girlies liked the roses so much that they asked if they could each have one for their rooms.

I found a couple of small sample bottles and cut a couple of long stems to fit.  They both love having them next to their beds.  I even have a picture of Bit's rose with her favorite out by the pond find, fishing lures.

Over the weekend we got some new furniture put together once all of our painting was done but I don't have any pics yet.  I want to get things cleaned up and put away first.  Oh, and the dog is growing like a weed!

She loves sleeping in the cat bed.  What a silly puppy.

Comments

[chris]

I'm so sorry to hear about all the ordeals you've been through lately -- it really sucks. And I wish there were something I could do to help . . .

I also have horrible veins for IVs and such, and it's always a huge source of anxiety every time I need blood taken, etc. So I feel your pain there!

[Anne]

I know it's small comfort, but in my vast experience with MRIs (5 in the last year) I've found that closing your eyes before you go 'in' helps with the claustrophobia a bit. Good luck, and here's hoping that that will be your last MRI for a while.

[p-la]

All my fingers and toes are crossed that it is the best news possible!!!

[Shanti]

I'll be sure to keep you in my thoughts and prayers. Good luck.

Maybe you need to knit a giant puppy bed...

[Karen B.]

Psst. Theresa sent me...

I jokingly tell my docs that I feel like I live at the hospital, because I'm such a frequent flyer :-)

I just wanted to tell you that you should do whatever needs doing to get through the testing and uncertainty of mysterious masses. When I got the call from the breast center, I was sweating bullets. Subsequent testing showed the areas in question to be benign (thankfully!).

I wish nothing but good outcomes and excellent karma for you as well. And I second giant puppy bed idea!

[abi]

Hello, the keyboard biologist sent me over to send you good wishes. It all sounds scary but you are being very strong and brave. The flowers are a good idea (well done husband) and I'm sending lots of positive thoughts over to you.

[Karen B.]

BTW. Totally with you on the MRI with contrast. I always get hit with the metallic taste of the dye within seconds of the IV injection.

You are so fortunate to have a loving and supportive family. Never discount the value of these good souls surrounding you.

[Nita]

I send prayers and good vibes for coping and calm throughout this challenge. I wish you good news.

[ninaclock]

My mother just recently completed breast cancer treatment (everything is going well now). Though the diagnosis of cancer and all of the stuff and comes after it (surgery and treatment) was really tough on our family, I think the most taxing part for my mom was the waiting to find out and the vague and sometimes blatently untrue timelines the medical people gave her. She felt so at the mercy of medical professionals who didn't seem to care at all that they were screwing around with her life...more accurately putting it on hold. One of the best things she did was fire one of her doctors who didn't seem to be giving her accurate information about timelines and next steps. Knowing, feeling, and acting in control of your own healthcare is essential. It's your body and your life, make sure that you own every part of this process no matter what the outcome.

I pray that everything turns out to be benign. Keep on writing and talking. You don't have to have a diagnosis to have strong feelings that are valid and need many opportunities to be expressed. If you can talk to cancer survivors or people dealing with it right now, do it. They will understand what you're going through like no one else and be able to give you the honest perspective of people who have lived/are living through the worst possible outcomes. Also, talking about my saddness and confusion and just plain fatigue while my mom was going through the brunt of cancer treatment taught me a great deal. I learned that there is no shame in being humble enough to say how very close I was to my very worst. Kind people with (usually) kind words came out of the woodwork. They told me their stories and made sure in real, tangible ways (like bath products) that I knew that it was OK and that they would do what they could to take care of me while I took care of my mom.

My heart aches for you. Hang on.

[Cynthia]

I, too, have come here from the keyboard biologist to wish you well. I (age 31) have just come through the other side of where you are. I can tell you that the not knowing is the worst part, that where you are right now is a kind of scary that can't be known by anyone who hasn't been there before. Thus, it is easy to feel alone in the midst of all this. It will get better, I promise you. Even if it IS cancer (and I pray for you that it is not), not cancer but something just as bad (my case), or hopefully!! something wonderfully simple, the KNOWING will make it all easier to deal with. Really.

Your husband seems wonderful! That goes so far in helping ease your mind, doesn't it? Please know that my good wishes are with you, and I think you awfully brave to post of it.

[Norma]

Sending pink light your way.

[Lizzy B]

I'll be thinking of you and checking back to see how you are doing. I too came from Theresa's blog and wish you all the good healing karma that is possible.

Hugs and puppy kisses sent your way.

[Nurse Shar]

Sending good thoughts and prayers your way.

[Kelly]

What a terrible thing to go through. I will keep you in my thougts and prayers. Hugs!