Monday, April 6, 2009

Report on Biopsy Procedure

Report on Biopsy Procedure

I am back from my biopsy.  I am feeling light-headed (slightly) and a little out of it.  Not exactly well, but nothing bad I can put my finger on.  A slight pressure in my head, tiredness.

Here's what happened:

I went to the ultrasound desk at Beaumont hospital, checked in.  The receptionist had my name and put a wrist band on.  I hadn't had a wristband for the mammograms or ultrasounds, so immediately I knew this would be a little more invasive."  (Of course, I already knew that, e en though it's my first in situo biopsy.)  I waited past my appointment time and was just starting to antsy (15-20 minutes later) when a woman called my name.  She was Nancy, the person to whom I'd spoken in the phone, the one who had made the arrangements.  She took me to the ultrasound room--looked like the same room where I'd had my previous ultrasound and had me strip down and put on a gown with the opening in the front and sit on the ultrasound bed while she checked my wrist band and ask me questions--the SAME questions she'd asked on the phone and I already answered--while she filled out forms.  She asked my name, date of birth, why I was there.  Checked my wristband.

Then another lady came in.  These were NOT the same women who gave me my previous ultrasounds.  (So maybe it was a different room?)  Nancy is blond and tall and middle-aged (younger than me, maybe 50?) and the second woman had an accent.  At first it was very noticeable, but after a little while, I didn't notice it at all any more.  She asked my name, date of birth, and why I was there and checked my wrist band,  She was short and dressed in dark blue scrubs--the first one, Nancy was in pale blue scrubs.  L2 was the ultrasound lady and she looked with the ultrasound for the lump they were going to biopsy.  They had the images from last time on the light box and I had looked at them to see what lump looked like (I'd been studying lumps on-line to see what I could learn about them).  I had wanted to take a picture of the lump with the little camera I'd had in my pocket, but by the time I got dressed, I'd forgotten and just wanted to go home.  DARN!

After she found the lump--and I could see it on the screen--she went out looking for the doctor, who came in and identified himself.  Meanwhile, Nancy had hooked me up to a blood-pressure monitor and heartbeat monitor.  My blood pressure was really good (even though I was a little nervous--eek)--and my pulse was also really good. 

The doctor, who was Italian and must have thought I was, too, because he kept talking to me in Italian--(and I am but I was too nervous to even pretend I understood--although I did understand a little, scrubbed my breast with turquoise stuff--antiseptic and then told me to turn my head to the side and he sprayed me with numbing pray which did not smell very good--kind of what one might expect.  He asked me my name, date of birth, why I was here.  And checked my wristband.  Then he said, "bee sting." and explained that he was going to give me shot to numb the breast tissue.  He actually gave me several.  I could feel it--it was milder than a bee stig--it hurt, but less than a shot normally does--like a little prick as opposed to a big one.

Then he got out the biopsy device.  It looks a bit like a large needle, only much more complex.  It has a gun-like trigger and parts--metal tubes--that fit inside the needle-like part.  I was feeling slightly queasy and fearful--I was afraid it would really hurt--the thing was HUGE--literally like 10-12 inches long!  EEK!  It was a scary-looking tool.  I could see him inserting it on the monitor--and I could feel a sense of pressure and a hint of pain and also something deeper--like pain I couldn't feel--don't know how to explain it--it didn't really hurt.  It hurt a little, but very little, less than my normal fibromyalgia pain.  But it was still upsetting--dunno how to explain it--I remained very calm externally, but inside I was getting a little dissociated.  After he'd gone in 3-4 times with this device, he said, "almost done."  Then went in twice more.  Each time, I expected it to start hurting worse, in part because of my previous bad experience with anesthesia.  Usually, they don't give me enough and then proceed to hurt me.  But in this case, there was never any real conscious pain, just that sense of pain I couldn't feel that was making me queasy.  Also the sight of that gian needle entering my breast on the monitor--pushing its way through the tissue--I could see the tissue giving and tearing a little as the needle went through it.

When he said he was done, I asked if I could see the samples and he handed me test tube with little bits of my body in it, swirling around--because he kept shaking it--like little eels or snakes.  They were maybe a 16th of an inch wide and half an inch long and curly.  I hope he got some of the right part.  Some of the lump.

I'm still feeling slightly out of it, slightly headachey, slightly queasy.  And tired.  I just want to lie down.  I have an ice pack Ia m supposed to keep on my breast ten minutes on and ten off, and I am supposed to wear a bra to bed and do no heavy lifting etc.

I am sure I'll be fine soon.  It really wasn't that big a deal.

Now I have to wait 3-7 days for the results of the biopsy.

2 comments:

bluerose said...

A queasy pain you couldn't feel... sounds awful! I hope the results are benign.

Your story brought back memories of my last procedure, a barium enema. At 7:30 on a Monday morning after 2 days of fasting and laxatives, and an hour and a half of rush hour traffic, I stood in front of the receptionist dehydrated, in a cold sweat, so weak I could barely stand, while she put my wrist band on. They took me back to a room like no room I had ever seen before. A cold metal table in the middle with wires and screens hanging from the ceiling, all dwarfed by the machinery that loomed over the table. Like you, they put me in one of those hospital gowns, and while I shivered and my teeth chattered, explained the procedure. They would be inserting a catheter and then inflating a balloon. I was not to push this catheter out, because it could DAMAGE MY RECTOM.

Now, my colon was still spasming from the last dose of laxatives that I was supposed to take three hours before the exam [at 4 in the morning], so when she inflated that balloon, I wanted to scream "EVERYBODY DUCK!!! THAR SHE BLOWS!!!" It was like having diarrhea, and having to hold it in. I was praying that this wouldn't be a very long procedure when the doctor announced in amazement that I had an unusually long colon, and she was having trouble getting the barium to the end. The more barium they tried to pump in, the more my colon spasmed. A HALF AN HOUR later, she said she would have to give me a shot to calm the colon down. Then, I had to wait another FIFTEEN MINUTES [of hell, just laying on this table shivering with blue hands and feet] for the shot to kick in.

Fraulein Blastbuttwich, sorry I mean "the doctor", finally returned and asked if I was doing any better. I groaned, "let's just get this over with". At a time when my colon seemed relatively calm, she pointed to the screen with a hint of surprise in her voice and said, "look, it's still spasming". I looked up at what appeared to be a jumbled mess that dipped and turned, narrowing, then widening like some bizarre roller coaster ride at an amusement park. It didn't look anything like the pictures in anatomy books. They had trouble getting all the barium out. I could see that it pooled in the dips and turns. They had to roll me over a few times to get it out. This was a nightmare, because the slightest movement on my part tottered on the brink of disaster. To put it in other words, my butt cheeks were sore for a few days afterward from trying to hold that thing in.

Then they wanted to do an air contrast! Imagine the worst gas pains you've ever had, and then trying to hold it in. It was after 10 am, before I got out of there. When the doctor was finished, she said, "well looks good, no tumors". I almost wished she had found something, so that this morning of hell wouldn't have been for nothing.

I have a client that tells me growing old is not for sissies. I told her that I have a whole new appreciation for what she and others go through. You have my sympathy, my friend!

Mary Stebbins Taitt said...

This sounds like hell, like a torture chamber from hell--it's way worse than what I went through (so far, knock on wood!) Getting old is not for Sissies, but the alternative ain't that great, either.