My Second MRI

My first MRI experience was back in October of last year. It was just past the half way point in my folfox treatment, on a rainy night after work. Everything was so new and interesting.

It is early, Sunday morning, July 12. I have an appointment for an MRI at 8:30am, but I'm instructed to arrive a half an hour early to register. I wake up early feeling anxious. I can't eat until after my MRI, so once I am dressed, I want to go. Steve and I walk over to the Miriam Hospital MRI department on a sunny, humid, summer's morning. It is located around the back of the hospital, in the basement, through doors that warn of magnets in use.

We arrive ten minutes early, before there is a receptionist, so we are sent over to admitting in the main building. We walk around the outside of the building and enter through the main entrance to find there is no receptionist in this area either. The MRI tech told us we may not find anyone there, and instructed us to dial the operator on the phone that would be in the reception area. We are told someone will be right over. A woman greets us several minutes later.  She has come over from emergency admitting to check us in. What a crazy system.

Once I am checked in and wearing my hospital bracelet, Steven and I follow the underground maze beneath the hospital back to the MRI department. By the time we get there, the admitting nurse has arrived. Sigh. She instructs me to change into a hospital johnny in a dressing room that is located through a door behind the admitting station. Everything off but underwear. 

There is a locker where I can leave my clothes in the changing room, but I leave my bag and phone with Steven, who waits in the small waiting area. I wander out to hand him these things while I am in my johnny, like this is perfectly normal behavior. Maybe I should have just rolled out of bed and wandered over dressed in my nightgown.

Once the techs are ready for me, I am called back to the room where the MRI machine is. Sheets are laid on the cold plastic bed, with a small pillow for my head and one to go beneath my knees. I will be injected with a contrast dye, so I am given an IV drip in my left arm. They do a test, and it feels like there is cool liquid running down the inside of my arm. It turns out to be a reaction to the fluid, there is not really anything on the outside of my arm, it only feels that way as it flows into my veins.

There is a panic button placed in my right hand, in case I need them to stop the machine at any time. I worry that I might press the button by mistake while I am laying inside the machine. I am given headphones to wear, so the tech can tell me when to breathe and when to hold my breath and be still. They will also protect my ears from the loud sounds the magnets produce while making the images. There are speakers in the headphones to play music to take my mind off of the noise in the machine. I tell the tech he can choose the music for me, but as I slide into the machine I have a moment of panic thinking he may pick something I don't like.  He has chosen Crosby, Stills, and Nash. I breath a sigh of relief, this is something I can listen to.  I focus on the words and the harmonies. The tech asks if I am okay, and tells me he is ready to start the imaging.

The first time I had an MRI, everything was so interesting. I was focused on the sounds and the sensations around me, it was all so new. Even though this is only my second MRI, it now one of several different scans I have had, and not so exciting. I only want to get through it, to move on to the next thing. I lie there, eyes closed, listening to the music, breathing in, holding my breath when instructed to, and breathing out again. I try not to think about time, about the space, about the loud noises clanking around me. It seems to go much faster than the first time.

It is my hope, and my expectation that this scan will show that I have no growing cancer in my body.  I do not know how there can be, I have followed all the steps and done all of the treatments.Well, almost all of the treatments.

I will find out in two days what the scan reveals.

When I get home, even though it is early still, I am so tired.  It could be that my weekend is still catching up with me, or that the MRI makes me tired.  Both of these things could be the cause.  In any case, it is time for another nap. 

The Last Chemo

June 26, 2015

This is the day of my last chemo session.

I am so ready for this day, although it is hard to get ready to go in for my treatment.  There is this huge psychological piece of chemo that is really difficult for me to deal with. There are sounds and smells, even thoughts that go along with all of this that make it hard for me to get to where I need to be; at the Miriam, Fain 3 at 8:00am this morning.  I fight all of the fear inside my body, and get myself there on time.  This is the last one, this is the last one, has become the mantra playing in my head.

I walk myself over and manage to get in on time.  I had wanted to bring the nurses a treat, but didn't leave early enough to do so.  Another time, I think and then remind myself that this is the last one. I don't need to come back for more of this.  What a strange thought.  For the past YEAR, as it is two weeks shy of when I started my first treatment, I have been coming to this place every other Friday, with only a short break for my ostomy reconnection.  It has been a time of reflection, discovery, and  focus.

 I have been with the same group of nurses for this entire time, with only a few exceptions. One nurse, Cassie, left for another position in the hospital.  The other nurses on my team, Carolyn, Jenn, Tracy and Faye, have been a constant source of support, besides being there to make sure I get the drugs I need.  They have all listened to me explain and complain about how I have been feeling.  They have adjusted the IV pumps that push the medicine into me, and brought me warm blankets when I was cold.  They are patient, and incredibly kind. It makes me somewhat sad to be saying goodbye to them, even though I can stop by to see them if I need to.  I know this is probably unlikely though.

I am disappointed Faye is not on today.  She has been my main nurse, from day one.  Faye has taken good care of me, we have shared bits and pieces of our year together, and I will miss hearing about what she has been up to and how her family is doing.  I am Tracy's patient today.   When I choose my pod, she tells me she will make sure Carol knows where I am, and saves the one next door for her.

There is a long wait for me to go in to get my vitals taken this morning.  Even though I was one of the first people in, through some mix up, I wait for a long time.  I don't really mind.  I don't have anywhere else to be, and my friend Nancy is coming to sit with me today.  She arrives before I am called out of the waiting area, so she can accompany me in to the exam room and meet Dr. Safran.  He congratulates me on making it this far.  It turns out that most people aren't able to tolerate so many treatments.  He is happy that I look good and that my new goal is to getting strong again. Ever since the snowy winter, I have been making little effort to exercise.  I have this funny shaped belly now that I am not happy about, so I am going to try and exercise it away.  At least I think I am.

During this visit, I ask him what the chances are of my cancer coming back are.  I am somewhat taken aback when he tells me it is around eighty percent.  I am disappointed that it is such a high number.  He tells me that it is really difficult to know without a doubt if we have defeated every cancer cell. I am scheduled for a pet scan on July 2nd, so if I call the next day, he will be able to tell me how things look, if the cancer is in remission or not.  I also have an appointment for the following Tuesday to go over our new plan.

I ask if there is anything I should be doing to keep the cancer at bay. There are so many unknowns with this disease, but two things that seem to be consistently linked are the consumption of red meat, and charbroiled foods.

When I get back to my pod, Carol is in her chair next door.  I pull the dividing wall back to open up our two pods so we can talk.  I introduce her to my friend Nancy, and we sit all sit and talk until it is time to get hooked up.  At one point the lunch Lenore, the lunch lady, and an new assistant, come by to offer us some food.   Of course the thought of it makes my stomach lurch, but when I realize I can take mine and give it to Nancy, I quickly ask for a turkey sandwich and then wait until they leave to hand it over.  We all look so cozy there, like we are having a little party, that we need to remind the lunch ladies that Carol is a patient deserving of lunch too.  I guess this is a testament to how good we both look!

As I sit in my chair, I start to feel dopey and not very well.  It is so good to have the distraction of a friend to help me get through this.  We talk and I try to ignore how rotten I am feeling.  In what has got to be one of the best cases of good timing ever, Steve walks in just as I am getting ready to leave. I give Carol a hug and wish her well.  We have exchanged email and phone info so we can keep in touch.  I give each of my nurses each a hug too.  I know that at some point I will probably see them again, since I will have visits with Dr. Safran, and then possibly other kinds of treatments, but this is the last chemo, hopefully ever.

Nancy has driven over, so she gives Steve and I a ride back to our house, where I can't get to bed fast enough.  As I lay in my bed with a pillow covering my eyes, I see lines like cross hatching.  At one point I feel as if I am seeing all of the lines around the iris of my eyes, when it occurs to me that I am probably having a migraine.  My head doesn't hurt, but my stomach feels awful.  I have decided not to take the nausea med this time, because the last time I opened the bottle, the smell of it made me feel like throwing up.  I wasn't feeling any better or worse than I had when I was taking it.  The only thing that would make me feel better for sure, is a good long nap.