$#!% Just Got Real (Part 2)

Here is the second part of Tuesday

We left Target and were off to Cooper. We had to get pre-admission bloodwork to check my clotting factors before my surgery the following Wednesday. I liked getting my blood work at Cooper, because there was never a wait (or at least one longer than 5 minutes) and they got me on the first stick. My veins are terrible. After all of the chemo and i.v.s and PIC lines and broviacs, they're just donezo.

(PIC Lines and Broviacs are temporarily permanent IV lines. They go directly into your major arteries to administer chemo and meds faster. My blood had a severe clotting problem when I was dealing with my leukemia, so I would have to have them replaced constantly. This wreaked havoc on my veins, they had to reroute themselves and became very superficial. Therefore very hard to draw blood on me. I eventually had a port coming out of my stomach, because the line went directly into the artery in my groin. Honestly, I can't remember any of the terms or names. LOVE my chemo brain.)

E, who is one of my favorite phlebotomist's smiled when she saw me and we got to chatting.

"Weren't you just here a few days ago? Why do you have to come in so often?"

I was like...

"Yup that was me, get used to seeing a lot more of me. I've been re-diagnosed with cancer."

We kept chatting and as she was aiming to insert the needle I thought to myself

"Yea, I'm always in here because you guys are the only ones that can get me on the first stick."

I didn't say it out loud though because I didn't want to jinx it. Sure enough, the vein paused and if we had waited the blood would have hemolyzed. (Had too much oxygen so the sample wouldn't be viable.) She had that look of dammit, the one you see on people's faces right as the cops lights start flashing behind you. I told her not to worry and to re-stick me. It wasn't worth risking a bad sample. So she switched to my left arm and I showed her the vein that my friend J who is a nurse pointed out to me at the concert while we were talking about my bad veins. It worked. While the blood was flowing, somehow it came up that I was from Canada and

"OH thats why I remember you. I couldn't place you at first but you're the super sweet one. I knew there was something different about you, and it's because you're so nice. Hows school going?"

That honestly never gets old to hear. I love how Canadians have that reputation and thats why I'm also so proud to be one. When I was little my dad and I got in a fight at our Canadian cottage because he had put the Canadian Flag above the American one. We had been living in the states my whole life, so I identified as American. I was probably 11 or 12 at this point. I got mad and was like

"DAD we should have the American one higher because we're better!"

My dad then said to me

"Hunny, Its always better to be Canadian! We're way better, and you should be proud and realize how lucky you are to be Canadian!"

I rebelled by claiming "American Woman" as my theme song by Lenny Kravitz for the next few summers. However, I'll always remember that story because of how strongly I appreciate being Canadian now. I just don't appreciate their health care. That's only because I'm privileged enough to have private insurance, but this is a whole other debate, seriously HEATED debate, from personal negative experiences. (Here's my old cottage which I desperately miss with the proper flag!)

Oh and this one: I made out of Molson Canadian Beer Labels. It was decorating my hospital room during my transplant.

So back to E, my phlebotomist. I told her

"School is good, and now that I'm here doing treatment instead of working my tush off, I'll have a lot more time to dedicate to it."

It was nice that she remembered

"You're going to be the big event planner right?"

I said

"Yes! Hopefully. I'm taking my International Certification in Event and Wedding Planning. So something along those lines."

She then finished filling the viles of blood and we were off to our appointment.

We went to the building next door and my mom knows EVERYONE here. She used to work in this building but they wouldn't hold her job when I had leukemia the first time. My treatment was being done in Toronto and she didn't leave my side. I needed her by my side. She also worked for a .... hmmm B!%@#. Its the consensus among the whole place, so I don't care who sees it, if they see it on here. After a couple brief hello's we went to the office. It was very nice. Once again, a lot of women over the age of 50. It was becoming apparent how rare this was for a 25 year old, because I still hadn't seen anyone even remotely close to my age. I guess that's also a good thing, because I wouldn't wish this on anyone, especially someone close to my age.

We checked in and waited. The room was much hotter than the rest of the building. No body else seemed to mind but I was sweltering. I took off my sweater and scarf and still felt like an egg in a frying pan, sizzling away. The moments started to tick by. I was texting a friend back home about Camo lingerie and so I was at least amused.

"Hypothetically speaking, if you were to take me hunting, could I wear hot pink instead of Orange. Its just not my color"

His response was pretty good

"HAHAHAHA well not if you wanna obey the law lol. But it sounds kind of hot lol."

So I was at least amused in the office because this convo escalated into camo clothing options. The time was passing so slowly and I was getting extremely nauseous. My back was in pain but I just tried to ignore it. My mum finally said

"Courtney, just take the perc."

As I usually say when I do

"Ok fine, I guess its time for the percolator."

The clock continued to tick and as in true NJ fashion, we had to listen to some Jersey lady B!%(#ing about something. Another lady and her perfect weave had fallen asleep, and we were stuck with a god awful soap opera. A lady came around with her snack cart and I think I fell in love. She had the peanut butter crackers and I was sold. I was starting to feel ten times better. I had no idea that the pain in my back was so bad that it was manifesting as nausea and heat. About an hour had passed of waiting and my mum finally piped in. The doc was running late but on a positive note, it was because he was thorough and didn't rush us out.

Finally after the waiting room was almost empty it was my turn. I went in and got weighed and all my vitals done. I then went back out to the waiting room to wait AGAIN for the actual doctor. At least we were in Voorhees though and not in the city so we didn't have to worry about getting caught in Philly traffic. We finally got to head back to an exam room. I was told to

"I know I know, undress from the waist down and throw the orange sheet over my lady bits."

I had been through this a time or two. I kind of missed the oven mitts though. So, I undressed, crawled up, and waited.

Dr. W came in and looked so nice, but was very quiet and reserved. He reminded me a lot of one of my docs from CHOP. He went over my history and then did a pelvic exam.

"I've gotten more action this week then I have in the past year!"

This poor doc was clearly not one used to dealing with the likes of me. The pelvic was a longer process than expected but he was very thorough. He estimated that it was Stage 2B, and to determine if it hit stage 3, further testing would need to be done. Once again I was anally assaulted but it just gets to a point where nothing surprises you anymore. He said the cancer was mainly on my left side, I already knew this though. I could feel it, it was my body after all. Pelvics are so awkward, the doc stands there with his gloves on while a nurse loads him up with lube. I'm sure its like something a little more technical, but it basically does the same thing. Anyway...

He finished, and told me I could get dressed and we headed to his office. At this point in the day, I was EXHAUSTED. I hadn't been to sleep since 7ish the night before and had been at doctors offices all day.

In his office he talked about my lower back pain. He explained how because the pain was localized to one spot, that it is worry some and we should get a bone scan because its not something we should just pump pain meds into and ignore. That is was possible the PET scan missed something and there could be a metastasis or tumor there as well and it would be wise to rule it out. This was punch in the gut number one. It got scheduled for the next day.

The part that killed me was his explanation. My other docs had explained what was going on, but Dr. W really explained. He drew diagrams and really emphasized how serious this was. I was no longer concerned about my future sex life, because I wouldn't be able to have one if I wasn't alive. He went over where they will radiate but how the radiation could cause complications in my bone marrow maybe sparking my leukemia as well as other complications. This was gut punch number two. He went over risks and possibilities.

Something about his explanation hit me. $#!% just got real. I realized, for the first time that this was serious. This wasn't about me being funny on a blog. This wasn't about YAY I get to go back to the states and spend time with my mum and sis who I was missing. This wasn't about F#@%, this is screwing up my jobs, my school, my internship, my job interview and my personal training. This was OMG, I'm fighting for my life. Again.

I needed a minute and stepped out of the office and went out into the atrium. We were on the second floor and I leaned over the wooden balcony and looked over the building. Tears flooded my eyes, and this was something I just couldn't handle because normally I get quiet when I'm upset but I wasn't upset, I was scared. Really scared.

Emotions I recognized from battles past, "This is going to hurt", "there could potentially be complications and knowing me and my history, most likely." "I'm going to have to figure out how to put my OSAP on hold and my bills, what about the life I left behind, I can't work." Fear, Anxiety, Stress all balled into one flowed from my eyes like a creek in the middle of forest. As busy as the hospital was, I was there alone on that balcony. Fighting with my emotions, wanting them to disappear. Wishing for my blonde shield to protect me with a smile. Dr. W came out and broke me out of my own little world, he tapped me on the shoulder in the loving "I'm so sorry to bother you but I didn't want to just leave on bad terms kind of way." It was endearing, he told me "If you need anything please call me."

My mum and I went to the downstairs floor where we started making calls. We had so many questions. We got home and I called my best friend K. By this point, I had reverted back to being stoic and avoiding my emotions with humor. She calmed me down though. I talked it out with her and ended up laughing. All I wanted to do was sleep. My other friend H texted me "I am so sorry to hear this babe. I know it is essentially the exact opposite of what you wanted to hear. Please know that I love you, am thinking about you, and would do anything for you. All we can do is take this one step at a time. A second opinion is just that until tests come back." She was the voice of reason in a parade of screams.

The rest of that night was a blur, I talked to my dad, and fell asleep. I woke up and went downstairs a few hours later to get some food. My mum was just about to jump in the shower but heard me and came down. I made a salad and when I went to get the cheese saw it was moldy. I was crushed. I was exhausted and hungry and wanted this specific salad. I had gotten something like it at Jimmy Guacos in Peterborough and was craving it. For some reason all I have wanted the last few days has been salsa. Not store bought, in a jar crappy stuff, but the real stuff. My mum and I hopped in the car, went to wawa, got my cheese and came back and it was delicious. Chopped lettuce, guacamole, salsa, grilled chicken, black olives, pico de gallo, sour cream, chedder cheese, and lots of green hot sauce. It was delicious, exactly what I wanted. I came back up to bed, and my mum could tell my stress level was through the roof. I took a Xanax and was out. We had to be up super early for my bone scan the next day.

It's not the results that are stressing me out, its the not knowing. I just want to get started with treatment. I'm sick and tired of hearing "We need more information" or "We need to do more tests" and then having to wait for them. Once we have a game plan and know what we're dealing with I'll be ok. My biopsy on the lymph nodes is next wednesday so 6 days away. I'm hoping in 8 days I'll know. I'll know what kind of radiation we're doing, where we're doing it on my body, and at what hospital. I'll be able to research the side effects to know what to expect and then I'll be ready for chemo. We're close but not there yet. I had a moment of weakness but I'm back. I'm ready to do this.

I crawled in bed, and grabbed Dex. I was out.

E.U.A.> Examination Under Anesthesia.

Thursday August 8th, Surgery day.

N.P.O. > Since 12:30 am the previous night. (NPO= Nothing By Mouth- No food, No water)

I woke at 8:30am. My mum had removed the water bottle and glass of water from my bed the night before, so when I reached for them, my hands swung and missed. Just air. Great. I was parched, and I knew what was coming. My back was aching like no other. It was as if a million daggers had been thrust into it. I guess jumping and dancing all night did wonders for my poor spine. I told my mum and she said I should take a perc, so I did. I threw on a sports bra with no metal, Hot pink. Perfect. I also grabbed pink panties. Having worked at Victoria's Secret, my bra and panties always match, always. I threw on sweats and my new Maroon 5 tee and we were out the door.

We went to pick up my dad and as he crawled in the car, I could feel my stomach starting to ache. The first omen of an awful day. There is a reason it says on the perc bottle "DO NOT TAKE ON AN EMPTY STOMACH". My mum profusely apologized for forgetting this fact but I would rather feel nauseous then pain. We got to the hospital with no traffic. We pulled up and had the car valeted, totally felt like I was in LA. We got to the Day Surgery floor and they instructed me to head to a room and my parents to head to the waiting room. I instantly felt a sense of unease.

"Umm no, they're coming with me."

The nurse told me they could come in once I was ready, to which my mum jumped in

"No I'm going with her. This has never been an issue before especially at CHOP, and she has newly diagnosed cancer, so at least one of us is going."

My dad went to the waiting room and my mum came with me. I was glad I at least got my mum but I hated excluding my dad. We went in and I got to change into a sexy purple bear paws hospital gown and green socks (really people? green and purple, does no body think about color coordinating this stuff?) My mom insisted on compression boots. Personally I hate them, but I have a a severe history of blood clots (My lungs, all the major arteries, basically places that could kill you.) The compressions from the boots help your body circulate your blood while you're under anesthesia, and look super rad ::sarcastic face:: while doing so. I was dressed and ready to go, almost.

The nurse came in and went over all her questions. Name and birth date, when was the last time you ate anything, drank anything? etc. etc. What are you getting done today? Which of course I replied

"I'm getting my shit checked out."

haha Still doesn't get old. My new fav:

"Do you have any piercings, that are not seen by the eye?"

To which I replied,

"Well, not anymore.... and yes I took my belly button ring out."

At this point I was kind of glad my dad wasn't there, but nothing surprises him anymore... I don't think. However I was still upset at this point that he wasn't allowed in. So I went out to the nurses station and asked them why. I said:

"There is plenty of room in the room, and he wont get in the way. I understand you need to ask me questions but he's not a four year old. If he's going to be allowed to come in and see me before I go in, why in the hell can't he come in now."

The whole time I was saying this, the head nurse kept interjecting trying to come up with excuses. I wasn't having it. Dr. D's physicians assistant saw what was happening and how upset I was. She came in to my room, and said she would try and take care of it.

It was time to get my I.V. and the nurse was HILARIOUS. She was humming the "MaNuhMaNuh MaNuhMaNuh" song from Seasame street. She got my left arm prepped for the IV. I could tell immediately when she chose the vein it wasn't going to work. After years of IV's and needles and injections, my veins are screwed. I also know which ones work and which ones don't. My mum having done IV's for years told me to never tell the nurse which to chose because if they get nervous they're more likely to miss. So I let it go, and she missed. I told her as soon as I didn't see the blood return, to just take it out and start again. I would rather be re-stuck then have them dig around for the vein. She ventured over to my right arm, which sucks because I'm right handed but at least she got it. She explained that

"the MaNuhMaNuh song was originally from a Swedish porno and Seasame Street took it from them."

hahah Wow, thanks for that.

Finally my dad came in. It was about damn time. The nurses had me sign my consents. Obviously I consented, I was there wasn't I. The anesthesia doc came in and looked like she was 20. She was super cute and super nice. All I cared about was that she had versaid in her pocket. Think laughing gas at the dentist but in liquid IV form. I once woke up in the middle of a Spinal Tap and Bone Marrow Aspiration at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto when I was 16. I have had a extreme fear of waking up in the middle of procedures since, and therefore get panic attacks before any surgery. Versaid calms me down, and helps alleviate those attacks. The nurses made me take off my sports bra, great puppies unrestrained. I also had to take off my panties and put on these sexy mesh things. So. Hot. -_-

I was pretty much ready to go. Now was just the waiting game. The anesthesia nurse came in with a scowl on her face. The original nurse was still talking to me, but the anesthesia nurse just walked in. She started putting my hair net, hat thingy on. She started adjusting the rails, and said something, to which I don't even remember. I do remember how I felt though, uncomfortable. Something about her scared me. My mom instantly caught the vibe and piped up

"Excuse me, how about introducing yourself and a little sensitivity. She's just been rediagnosed with cancer and is about to go into surgery."

I was so proud of my mom. I love how she stands up for me and I totally agreed with her. The anesthesia nurse piped right back

"I'm sorry is there a problem."

I wanted to yell right back her, YES! There is, but I was thinking, crap this woman will determine the state of my comfort level while under anesthesia. I better not piss her off. I stayed silent while wanting to just envelope my mum in a hug and thank her. We went to the bathroom before the surgery so I could pee, and my mum came in and helped me with my IV. I thanked her and reassured her that she wasn't being a raging B!%@#, but being the best mom ever.

We went back out and in came the versaid. It was time for me to go. This is where it gets hazy for me. I don't even remember being wheeled down the hall into the OR. I do remember the nice nurse from my prep room, leaning over me and telling me to breath. I remember her eyes and how warm they looked in comparison to the cold bright lights of the OR. I remember her holding my hand, tightly. I felt safe, and comfortable as she leaned in close. I could feel the tears streaming down, my face, and the nurse reminding me to breath,

"C'mon Courtney take a big breath in through your nose, just breathe hunny, BIG breaths."

And that was the last thing I remember.

I woke up in the recovery room with a new nurse. She asked me how I was feeling and I managed to stumble out,

"my back, my back hurts and I think I'm going to puke."

She gave me my next favorite cocktail. Dilaudid. I'm allergic to morphine so, they give me another narcotic, dilaudid. Its wonderful. They also gave me zofran for nausea. This went on for a while, I was still foggy and hidden by a curtain. All I wanted was my mom and dad. The nurse brought me gingerale and saltines. The saltines were TERRIBLE. My mouth was so dry, that it was like eating flour. I knew I needed something in my stomach but this was not it. Finally my mum and dad came in. I barely remember but they moved me to another room with one of those lovely green wannabe lazy boy chairs. I put my clothes back on and started to get itchy. I couldn't handle the saltines so they brought me these ritz peanut butter crackers and they were heaven. I think I went through about 15 packages and a boat load of gingerale.

I was hazy from the meds. My back hurt, I was nauseous and to top it all off I just wanted to go home, but something wasn't right. My blood pressure dropped a little bit and I was starting to have an allergic reaction. It wasn't good. They gave me benadryl in pill form and it should have knocked me out. It didn't touch me. They were preparing for admission, to have me stay over night for observation, but I wasn't having it. After about 4 hours of bantering, my mom finally went into supermom nurse mode. They wanted to give me a medication to eliminate the pain meds, so I would go back into pain, but if I was having the allergic reaction to the pain med, would get rid of the reaction. My mum and I both knew, all I needed was IV benadryl and to go home.

My Ob/GYN nurse happened to be in the hospital and she came in to see me. She was the one who diagnosed the cancer from the biopsy and seeing her was like seeing the sun in a never ending rainstorm. I was so happy, although you probably couldn't tell, from my medically induced haze. We chatted and she apologized for me for having to go through this. I just wanted her to know how thankful I was for her, she's been the only consistent doctor I've had through my entire medical history and she has been for a reason. Because I feel safe with her. Feeling safe is rare for me, and when I do, I cling on to that feeling. Its not what people say that you remember, its how they make you feel!

She had to go, and I finally broke down in tears.

"I JUST WANT TO LEAVE!"

They finally caved and I was allowed to go home. I crawled into the back seat of the car, laid my head on my mums lap and my dad drove. I slept. When I got to my house, my sister's friend Jack had made us spaghetti and meatballs. This small gesture was like winning the lottery. A. because I was absolutely starving, but B. because this day had taken its toll on my mum emotionally as well. She didn't have the energy to cook. She just wanted to take care of me. Oh and C. because Jack's cooking is BANGING! I crawled into bed, grabbed sexy dexy and slept. I think I woke up for a water ice break, mint chocolate chip, thank you Natalie, and then passed back out. My allergic reaction had dissipated. Looking back, I'm convinced I was allergic to the hospital settings and just needed to get home and into my bed.

My mum was a rockstar. My dad made me feel comfortable. My doctors are champions and some nurses suck! I wont let those bad eggs take away from the rockstar nurses though, because they really are awesome. I slept and I slept and I slept. I woke up to my mum telling me the best news I could have gotten. My PCR, which is the genetic testing to see if my leukemia is back was negative! That means that I only have to worry about this one kind of cancer and not my leukemia. I will still make it to my five year, leukemia free RE-birthday in October. My dad has left to go back to Canada and I will miss him drastically. I have no concrete results yet from the surgery. So more things to wait on. They're deciding how to deal with my cancerous lymph nodes. To remove or to radiate, that is the question. But all in all, I'm home and in bed with Sexy! All is good!