dreary-ish

It is just pourng out there right now... pouring. I'm looking forward to the front that is supposed to move through in the next 24 hours or so. Temperatures have been less than fall-like and the weather professionals are calling for a cool down and maybe a couple of days of drizzle. How convenient, the two days I spent in the hospital this week were sunny and gorgeous. Bring on the rain. I can take it.

Monday played out as anticipated: a whole lot of sitting very still not doing a whole lot of anything other than worrying. And, really, I wasn't even doing too much of that. Basically the way it went down is that I checked into the hospital, waited about ten minutes in the "nuclear" waiting room (I thought that was kind of funny) and then was whisked away to the PET trailer (it is in a trailer because it is towed around from hospital to hospital) where I was prepped and injected with a bunch of redioactive glucose. I kicked back in a recliner, wondering about the whereabouts of the heated blankets I was promised (they never materialized), and whiled away an hour and fifteen minutes, alternatively trying to sleep and listening to mid-day offce radio music. The nice technician got me all situated on the scanning table, (finally) covered me in a nice warm blanket and told me NOT to move for the next 45 minutes. Thrilling, really. I was scanned and then scanned some more and scanned once more for safe keeping and was allowed to head home. I was told there would be no side effects, just drink a lot of water to flush the glow in the dark junk out. Well, I got home and tried to eat a sandwich and nearly booted, so I did what I am once again becoming very good at and took a nap. I was a championship napper at Penn State.

Tuesday morning came too quickly, especially because I couldn't sleep later than 8am and I hadn't eaten since 7pm and I wasn't allowed to eat again until after my bronchoscopy. Is it any wonder I've lost 15 pounds in four weeks? No running (muscle atrophy) or biking, a lot of worrying, and limits on my diet (I am a grazer) and bam... lighter than I've been since sophomore year of high school.

In any event, Tuesday went down as anticipated as well. If there's one thing the doctors can do it is tell you how it'll go down. It went like: ditch street clothes for hospital garb (so drafty!), stand on scale, check vitals, get in bed, hem and haw over IV going in left wrist (worst part of the day, if you ask me), complain to Mom about IV in wrist hurting, complain to Mom about being cold, complain to Mom about being hungry, complain to Mom about sucky book I am reading (sensing a trend?) and finally when I was running out of complaints, the nice hospital-bed-mover showed up and took me far, far away to the thoracic unit, which was about 18 miles away. When I got there, the fun really began.

Nurse 1: Hi there, wow, you're young, what are you doing here?
Me: Yes, I'm young, but more importantly I'm scared to death of the whole anesthesia thing
Nurse 2: Did they give you a shot in your butt?
Me: NO, ARE YOU GOING TO GIVE ME A SHOT IN MY BUTT?
Nurse 2: Oh no, you must not be that nervous then, otherwise they would have given you a shot in the butt
Me: OK, good. Well, I really don't want to be here but let's get on with it.
Nurse 3: Well I don't want to be here either!

These three nurses got me through the day. They were a crack up, making fun of the one who "ddn't want to be there" and telling me how everything was going to go down. One of them stressed to me that I shouldn't cover my mouth if I cough during the procedure. Coughing would probably wake me up (I was going to be concious, but really sedated) and whatever I do, just don't cover my mouth, because I would knock around whatever the doctor is doing. Sure enough, I woke up, looked right into the dr's eyes, he told me I was doing a good job, and I glanced at my hand when I coughed and commnded it not to move. "STAY". I thought. Success.

Following the procedure I cracked myself up as the anesthesia still worked through my system. I tried to con everyone into getting me a drink, and I wish I could remember what my doctor told me but I can't - Mom took notes. Those saltines were the best food I've ever tasted.

All that, and today I get a phone call.

The PET scan showed activity. Not necessarily the worst case scenario, but move it up a notch or two.

The bronchosopy results were undiagnosable. Useless. No result. I knew this was a possible scenario, but I was still saddened to learn nothing at all.

Next up: a visit with the chief of thoracic surgery at UPENN to see what he thinks. Most likely some surgery to get a better biopsy sample.

Did I mention it is just pouring out there?