Bone Biopsy

Because Drew didn't have school, I slept in until 7, then got up and cleaned the kitchen, living room, bathroom and my bedroom. It occurs to me that after the biopsy I might not feel up to the usual weekend cleaning, and I won't want to sit around staring at dirt mess and clutter!

Then off to a voice lesson and work - don't have to be at the hospital until 11:30, so figure I should stay productive until then. At last Kiel and I are headed towards Strong. A bit of butterflies in the tummy, but I am calm.

I have been watching the digital picture frame with the good verses and pictures. This new frame has a scramble mode and it has been interesting seeing slides not in the order of the Psalm or the Lord's Prayer. Makes you think about things from a whole new perspective!

I arrive and check in, get my required two plastic bracelets and head for the Nurse's Station. They assign me to bed "F" as in fabulous, fun, fantastic and a bunch of other descriptors Kiel and I make up. The nurse has the usual hard time finding a decent vein, but after two sticks, she gets one in my index finger. I have to say, I have never had a finger IV!

The doctor comes to explain the procedure and get my consent. I ask a lot of questions and he takes the time to truly answer them. I thought the suspicious spot was on the outside of the bone, sort of like a fungus. But it is actually inside the bone. They will have to drill a hole in my vertebrae to reach the long skinny place where the scans show abnormality.

He draws me pictures and we talk about how this will unwind. He tells me my options - not do it, wait for an open surgery kind of procedure, etc. I opt for this less invasive test, and do not want to ignore things. The cool part is that they do the procedure while you are having a live CT scan so they can see where the needle is exactly. Its the digital version of fluoroscopy.

The doctor tells me that cancer in the T1 vertebrae is uncommon. I suggest perhaps it is nothing. His eyes suddenly look directly into mine, with something like shock. "Yes!" he says. "It could be nothing. Nothing at all." I can tell the thought is foreign to him, but he is happy to entertain the idea. It will not stop the wheels from turning though. I sign the consent form.

They wheel me into the procedure room. I roll onto the CT scan table on my tummy and they put pillows under my chest and forehead. I get hooked up to an EKG, the blood pressure cuff and oxygen in my nose. They hang an IV bag. I can't see anything, and I struggle with the pillows to be able to breath something other than my own exhalations. My head must be straight, and above all, I cannot move. Since they haven't started, I wiggle my chin trying to dig a breathing hole.

They run some baseline CT scans. I hear many people moving about positioning stuff and asking directions from Dr. G. The nurse sits by my head and occasionally asks me if I am OK. Throughout the procedure they run me in and out of the CT doughnut to make sure things are where they should be.

I feel the cold of the antiseptic as they sterilize the area after spreading out a sheet of sterile papercloth. I feel the pinch of the Novocaine numbing the skin. I definitely feel the pressure as they insert a small drill, and the push of the drill as they enter the bone. Reminds me of dental procedures in some convoluted way.

Every few seconds, someone says, "Let's see where we are," and they call out a number - "Go to 68.7. Let's see 70.5. Now 72. (I think these are millimeters). OK We're good. Perfect." Then they bring me back out and I feel more pressure. Every once in awhile I feel pain, and almost immediately the nurse will ask if I am in pain.

The doctor approves more medicine. I start with .5 Versed and 25 of the pain med. They up the dose to 50, then another .5 Versed and another 25 pain. At one point, long after the procedure was well underway, I got a whole unit of Versed and another 75 of pain stuff. They need me to stay on the cusp of aware yet not in agony.

After the drill comes what feels like a chisel and hammer. The tap-tap-tap-tap is firm and insistent. It is followed by a rocking motion. More rocking. I can feel the pressure as they aspirate a piece of bone they have chipped off. More drugs. They get a first sample. No good. Too much blood. I listen as the doctor who is overseeing talks to unknown others about what is happening. It is a teaching class. I hear voices over an intercom with questions and answers.

They need three samples to make sure they can get a read. It is taking longer than they thought. I have very hard bones! I can sense that from time to time someone else is trying - the touch is different. Less firm, more angular. I hear the instruction - if it goes in easily, you are in the same location. Pull back and change the angle. It should feel hard to push.

Then back to the familiar hands. Someone enters the room and asks how much longer they need the room. At least a half hour more. The voice says to take your time, they will move the next procedure to another room.

Finally they are satisfied. Things zip off quickly and I find myself suddenly alone with the nurse, free of wires and sheets and paraphernalia. I roll back onto the gurney and head for slot "F" for finally. The nurse offers me some apple juice. In a short while, they bring me a turkey sandwich and applesauce.

The yellow discharge papers are not far behind - go home and rest. Take Tylenol (I can already tell I will need to - it feels like I have been hit very hard by a baseball bat in the spot on my upper back where they were working.) My arms are already sore from holding them over my head for so long. I am a bit wobbly, but can navigate well enough to get to the car.

On the way home I find I need an emergency bathroom stop. I console myself with a small cone of soft ice cream from Russells - chocolate of course! Then home to sleep. Not so bad. At least, so far. Now the waiting begins. I can call next Friday and see if the report is back yet. The praying continues.

I walk in the door and am greeted by my digital picture frame. I left it running to fill the room with goodness while I was gone. It helped me to remember that it was running, and I recalled many of the scenes and slides while I was listening to the voices about me. The inner voice was more comforting! I shall be happy to just sit awhile. I am glad it is over.