meetings without answers

Which is not like doctors without borders.

I had my first meeting with the oncologist this afternoon. I saw lots of pictures of my insides, but the upshot is she wants to take more (I get a full-body PET scan, an MRI brain scan, and a bone scan -- none of which, at least, involve taking any more bits of me -- and I have Ativan to take an hour before each scan, so that's good, too). The breast biopsy appears to be off the table (no pun intended) for now, thank gods. Apparently we've got much bigger fish to fry (that's my sister's translation of what the doctor said). They're also going to closely examine slides from the two existing biopsies side by side to determine for sure that they're not the same cancer (the doctor is pretty sure they aren't, but she wants a more definitive answer from the radiologist).

The back pain is getting worse even though the gabapentin dose has been upped, and there are cramps again, too. I've contacted both my PCP and the oncologist to see if there's *anything* to be done about that. I know they're going to say narcotics, and my -- admittedly extremely limited -- experience with narcotics was *not* pleasant. *Why* does the pain always get worse at night??? We're talking a baseline of about seven, with leaps up above eight when I lie down. And it's bloody unrelenting. 24/7 without a break, although it is better during the day than at night. If I ever catch whoever's following me around and jabbing me in the back with that piece of rebar, their death is going to be slow, laborious and beyond painful. "With a spoon?" "Yes, you twit, it'll hurt more."

Anyway, my next appointment with the oncologist is on Friday the 11th. Onward and sideways, I guess. I wish I'd gotten more answers, but apparently there just aren't any yet.

"I can't do this, Sam." I just can't anymore. And, yeah, I'm being a drama queen. Sorry.

can't see the rope anymore

Today I had the brain scan. With my head inside the MRI machine for 40 minutes. Wearing what amounted to a hockey mask. And the Ativan hadn't kicked in yet (the timing of that delightful little pill is a bit tricky, but I think I've got it down now). Massive claustrophobia and tears just streaming down the sides of my face and "please can you go get my sister?" who held my hand all the way through the process, although once the Ativan *did* kick in I was doing much better (except for the stopped up nose from the crying). Reason number 27 why I need her here for this.

On top of that, of course they wanted me on my back, but a) they gave me some padding to put under the sore spot, b) I had loaded up on ibuprofen beforehand, and c) the Ativan helped. The back pain didn't really kick in until about 20 minutes in, but it got pretty bad after that. They pulled me back out of the machine 10 minutes before the end to inject me with dye so they could get contrast pictures as well -- the tech was good at the vampire thing, but of course my veins all went running to hide next to my bones, as usual.

*Please* don't let them find brain cancer on top of everything else. *Please*.

I did manage to get from Kansas (where I'd left off at the last test) to Cape Breton Island in my "inside the machine travelogue." And that really does help. I suspect I'll make it home during the next test and have to do one of my other trips for the last one. Which is okay.

I did ask the tech if he could keep an eye out for hamsters on wheels in my brain, but he didn't find any. Alas. I know there are some in there. And I was hoping there was a way to remove them.

Two more tests to go. I don't know if they're going to stick my head in the machine for the full body PET scan, but a girl can hope they won't, right?