On June 18th, 2015 I had my first, and likely my last, lung biopsy. The reason for this procedure was to obtain samples of the mass in my lungs and lymph nodes. By having these samples analyzed, it can be determined exactly what type of cancer I have. This means a day surgery procedure, and, more importantly, the joy of experiencing another tube inserted into another orifice.
As a veteran of several day surgery procedures, I know the process well: show up early at the Hospital and register at the Admitting department. Take your paperwork up the Day Surgery floor, and wait for your name to be called . So that's what I did on June 18th, arriving about 40 minutes early for my 1PM appointment. I waited patiently until I was seen by the clerk, discovering only then that I was pre-registered. My paperwork was already waiting at the Day Surgery site on the fourth floor.
Upon arriving on the Day Surgery floor, I confirmed my appointment and was asked to take a seat, being informed that I would be seen shortly. Good thing I had done all that 'practice waiting' earlier today. Soon enough a nurse arrives to bring in me into the preparation room. It's cold and I'm expecting the usual process of having to disrobe entirely and change into a hospital gown. While I would eventually wear the "Johnny Shirt", I would be able to keep everything on but my shoes and shirt. I was thankful for this, as it was cold in the room. My problematic left leg hurt as I'm not comfortable laying on my back. The nurse is looking at my hand, seeking a suitable vein for the IV. I have good hands for that apparently, yet the first shot misses. Second attempt is higher in my arm, near the crook of my elbow. I prefer that anyways. This attempt succeeds. I will wear the usual souvenir bandages and tape when I leave. More waiting, then my nurse is replaced by the anesthesiologist.
The nice anesthesiologist patiently explains the process of what they need to do to me. This consists of numbing my tongue, throat, mouth and voice box. I will receive a 'twilight sedation' via the IV, and will likely be conscious during the procedure. What she didn't tell me is that the administration of the anesthesia is accomplished by dabbing the above-mentioned parts with an anesthesia-soaked swab on the end of a stick. The first part began easily enough, with an Ativan pill placed under my tongue. Once that was dissolved, the anesthesia application began in earnest.
My job is to open my mouth and stick out my tongue. Repeatedly. Initial applications are easy, the mouth and tongue are swabbed, and you are encouraged to swallow, as this will help numb your throat. Things get a bit more challenging the further down your throat, and that's where the gag reflex kicks in. You never actually choke, it's a natural reflex that most of us can't (or won't) override. I was able to test my gag reflex several times during this process. Each time I'd gag, my anesthetist told me what a great job I was doing, and waited for me to regain my composure. I would take another breath, open my mouth and stick out my tongue. We repeated this activity numerous times, and yes, it did get easier, mostly because she stopped doing it.
I don't recall if I felt particular numb, but the doctor and staff were satisfied I was ready. By now I've got numerous EKG monitoring wires stuck on my chest; those will be fun to remove. I was repeatedly asked if I was on blood thinners or aspirin. I was also asked if I had any allergies. Next I was given a bite guard, so I wouldn't chomp down on the scope tube that would be threaded down my throat. Finally my eyes were covered up, and the procedure began.
A sensation of something moving down my throat was my only indication that the tube was being inserted. This feeling only lasted for a few moments however. I wouldn't remember when it was removed, yet I believed I was conscious during most of the procedure. I would hear conversations, the occasional "he needs more...". I can't talk, but I can make hand gestures: thumbs up or down if needed. There wasn't anything requiring my input, and I tried to drift off. Rather, I hoped I'd drift off, I hadn't been sleeping well for a very long time, and was hoping I'd be right out. No such luck. My time sense of course wasn't very accurate, I can't tell how long the procedure lasted. It didn't seem very long. More importantly, I didn't feel a thing.
I'm aware that the procedure is done, and things have gone well. My bed and I are moved back to a recovery room. I feel fine. I'll be observed for about an hour, and then my gag reflex will be tested. They way they do this is have you sip some water. If you can drink without gagging, it's a good thing. Those initial sips were quickly followed by substantially more water; I hadn't had anything to eat or drink in over 12 hours now, and I was thirsty!
Upon discharge I was reminded that there might be some coughed-up blood and a raw feeling in my throat. Fortunately none of these symptoms presented, and over the next few hours I was able to eat and drink without concern. Now all I had to do was wait another 11 days for the results. Of course as I was getting dressed I discovered the leftover EKG sensors stuck on me like leeches. Pulling each sensor off also yanked a fair bit of body hair with it. The most painful process of this whole thing always seems to come down to tape and hair.
My biopsy results would be read to me on the 29th, eleven days from my procedure date. I didn't feel worried about the biopsy results, I know I have cancer. I just wanted to be comfortable. When I saw the Lung doc, it was rather anticlimactic. Our conversation lasted about five minutes, where he confirmed I had cancer and that it was derived from the instance in my colon. Upon leaving his office, the doctor told me he was glad to have met me, and for some reason, that made me feel sad. At home that night I dutifully informed my friends and family about the results. It seems that everyone wants to believe that there's a microscopic chance that the biopsy would show something else. I feel like I'm letting them all down when there's no good news.
It's getting difficult to keep emotions in check, to keep motivated, to want to live my life in my usual fashion. I know that this feeling will eventually fade and I'll adopt a new perspective. It's slowly dawning on me that I don't have to maintain an air of strength for myself or others. I just have to be strong enough to do what I want, when I want. Finding ways to be comfortable and happy are hard enough when you're healthy, so when you're sick, you should simply enjoy those peaceful and happy times as you can.
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