Adventure #1 Boringland
I had lung scans and a visit to Dr. Oncology early in the week. With the CT summary below, I’m happy to share that I remain the most boring cancer patient in the world.
1. Stable examination with post treatment changes in the perihilar portion of the right lower lobe. Stable scarring and atelectasis at the basilar aspect of the right middle lobe.
2. No local disease recurrence. No suspicious pulmonary nodules. No adenopathy.
Stable, bay-bee. Stable.
When things become less frantic, i.e., less terrifying, as things are now, there’s time learn new things. Today’s new thing: atelectasis. That’s when the little air sacs in the lungs, usually busy exchanging carbon dioxide for oxygen, collapse. They can do that under the pressure of a tumor (or a dying tumor) or scarring, as a result of radiation.
Understanding that this is why I had stiffness when I tried to breathe deeply helps me feel calm(er) when I breathe hard, and helps me persevere. Why the stiffness has dissipated is beyond me, unless the lung has healed. (Atelectasis after surgery can heal, so why not after radiation?).
Adventure #2 The Idiot In the Scan Center
I don’t love the heading here, but I’m still mildly outraged about the CT technologist, so indulge me.
Every time you have a CT with a particular contrast material, the CT technician has to take your blood to check kidney functions (specifically, your creatinine levels.) This time, the technician was early 30-ish, pretty, personable. She came to get me from the waiting room with no mask, seated me in the blood draw chair, left for a few minutes, and eventually returned. I commented that my primary care physician had said there’s Covid in the hospital again, and I was surprised she wasn’t wearing a mask. “I have one!” she said, waving it before hurriedly pulling it on.
I described some of what my primary care doc had said about the vaccines to get now, especially since since both Covid and flu are on the rise in the hospital. Very wide-eyed, she said something about how she was doing lots of other things to boost her immune system. A little bell began to ring in the back of my head. “Hmmm,” I said. Because we all have to do what we think is right to stay healthy, she said a couple of times. Don’t you think?
What did I think? I thought she was probably an anti-vaxxer who was using a position of power– i.e., the needle she was inserting in my vein– to sweet-talk a bunch of crap to someone who wasn’t about to walk away.
I kind of wish I’d said, “Oh, honey, you are so lucky you have an immune system you’re able to strengthen.” My immune system is OK these days– just wonky, as Dr. Pulmonology reminds me. What about other folks in treatment for cancers whose immune systems are not OK? But, really, anything I said would have just been a bunch of hot air.
It’s one thing for people to opt out of a Covid vaccine. It’s another to proselytize, however sweetly, to someone with a lung condition. It was her, “I just love learning about the body” comment, coupled with the absolute disregard for my sensibility that annoyed me. I’ve decided action speaks louder than words. Next time, I’ll ask to speak with a supervisor. Then I’ll request that someone else do the test. Yep, even if it needs to be rescheduled. No bullying allowed on my turf.
Adventure #3 No Pamphlets
You may recall my hope that I could talk Dr. Oncology into offering a little pamphlet to patients who are about to enter active surveillance. The idea: introduce the patient to some of the emotional challenges they may encounter as the physical crises begin to settle down, and suggest some actions they could take.
Yeah, well, no. As much as she admires that I tackle the ole’ question of Death and creating a meaningful life, she seems to think that not everyone is equipped to take on such tough questions. The point I made several times is that, surely, people deserve the opportunity to hear that every lung cancer patient has experienced feelings that aren’t often discussed; surely every patient deserves to hear there are things they can do to help themselves.
Maybe she doesn’t see this emotional terrain as her professional realm. Maybe she just didn’t understand what I was suggesting, or why. I do think she believes people need to cope within a framework that makes sense to them. For example, she’s had military types for whom lung cancer is a battle. Even if a recurrence implies they’ve “failed” at their battle station? She spread her hands in a what can you do? gesture.
And, maybe she thought I was talking about myself? She did say she would like to see me write “a slim volume,” distilling what I’ve learned and thought about. I was unequivocal: no. I countered by saying I’d write a one-pager as an example of what I mean.
Does she believe me? I don’t know– I must not have conveyed a persuasive rationale for such a document. Sometimes people just need to see an example to fully understand a concept.
And then, there is:
Adventure #4 CAKE
There was one other one, but it was pretty boring. The two cakes above were interesting and a challenge. On the left, a sweet teen named Grace asked for a Scream face to help her celebrate graduation (“Teenagers!” as one agency person signed, with a big eye roll, when I delivered the cake.) All the elements of that cake were originally done in frosting, then a big smudge tragedy occurred and I had to resort to Emergency Measures, i.e., cut out letters from fondant. The cake on the right almost killed me. The kiddo’s request, per the agency, was for blackberry cake, guava filling, lychee frosting, and a love for Kermit memes. Despite spelling the kiddo’s name wrong and having to have the edible cake topper printed twice, I got the damned cake finished and delivered on time. Lychee frosting my foot….
Thanks for reading. I hope your days are boring, your breaths are deep, and your mouth is full of cake.
