Let me warn you up front, this is going to be a rant. Cause frankly, I deserve it. And I really have grown to hate that whole idea of “I deserve such-and-such”, but yeah, I want to rant, and after what I went through yesterday, I think I’m okay in my desire to rant. So here goes.

    Like I said in the last entry, I’ve been begging my doctors for the past six months to order a specific test. That test I was referring to is a scan of my lymphatic system. I knew it was necessary, I knew it was going to suck, but I didn’t realize how much it was going to suck. I don’t think anybody did. But that’s life when your body is practically a complete unknown to medical science.

    The test really isn’t done that often, so it took a lot of research, time, and endless phone calls for my Mom to track down a hospital that actually did it. We finally found out that a hospital in Fairfax could do it, set up an appointment, and that appointment was yesterday.

    I should have done more research before the test, I really should have. Normally when I go into any medical experience, I like to know well ahead of time every exact detail of the procedure. I don’t deal well with surprises when those surprises hurt. I like to have time to wrap my head around it, get myself psyched up for it, and not have any guess work at all.

    What I knew about this test ahead of time was sorta close to reality, but not close enough. I knew that they would have to inject a radioactive isotope contrast into both my hands and both my feet. I was imagining a really small, small, small needle, like the ones used for TB skin tests. Not quite a diabetic needle, not that small, but still small. I was expecting at most maybe one or two shots per hand/foot. I was expecting it to be a small prick and maybe some burning when the radioactive isotope went in.

    Believe me, that wasn’t even close. That’s like calling the Himalayas a small foothill. Just not even anywhere in the same ballpark.

    Another aspect that I got wrong was which part would actually be worse. I was imagining that the pin-pricks would be the relatively easier part, compared to what I imagined as the hard part: spending hours on a hard table. I was expecting my whole body to ache as I laid completely motionless on a hard examining table. In short, I think I was expecting this to be more like the multiple bone scans I’ve had in the past. With bone scans, for me at least, the shots aren’t the hardest part, it’s the table.

    So in other words, I was psyching myself out for completely the wrong thing. The reality was, the table was the easy part: ten minutes, tops, with a pillow and a curved table with a small cushion. They even had a TV, so I got to watch a few minutes of “Yours, Mine, & Ours”. That wasn’t bad at all.

    It was the needles that sucked. Hell, “sucked” doesn’t even begin to cover it. Not even close. Again, Himalayas vs. foothills.

    The little pin-pricks I was expecting weren’t pin-pricks. At first, I even thought that maybe I was right, because the nurse had said that the needles were just like TB skin test needles. I thought, “Hey, score! I was right! Yay! Small needles!” Then I saw it. Lady, that is NOT a TB skin needle. The nurse was, for the most part, really nice. She was really understanding, tried to get it over with fast, and paused when I needed her to pause. But lady, that so is not a TB skin test needle.

    But as bad as it was that the needle wasn’t as small as I thought it would be, that wasn’t what made it so bad. I’ve had over 200 needle sticks in a single year, with most of those being IVs, which are so much worse and so much more complicated than just getting shots. I can handle needles for the most part. Well, as long as they’re not in my feet, which I’ll explain later. But in this instance, the needle was not the problem.

    The problem was the radioactive isotope.

    Here’s where I’ll explain my thing with needles and my feet. Naturally, nobody’s going to say that they like – or could even tolerate – needles going at their feet. But for me, it’s worse. I’m just going to outright say it – I have it so much worse than any of you do.

    Let’s start with the psychological aspect. I have post traumatic stress disorder. Why? Because when I was 11, I was stabbed with a dirty needle by a doctor who was supposed to be treating me for an ingrown toenail. He used a single needle to do a digital block, to numb my toe up for the procedure. While still being completely coherent, without any numbing medication in at all – cause, keep in mind, he was in the process of numbing me while he was doing this – he stuck a single needle into an infected area. Then he took that exact same needle and darted it into the proximal bone of my left big toe. The needle was darted with such force that he even let go of the syringe and it was free-standing out of my foot. It was that wedged in my bone, my perfectly awake, coherent, screaming bone. He essentially carried epidermal staph from a puss pocket around my nail straight down into my bone and injected it.

    Then he lied about it. He sent me on my way without any antibiotics, lying to me, saying he had hit a ligament and this happened all the time. I don’t know how that man sleeps at night.

    I remember the pain I felt that day. I’ll never be able to explain it. I was fully awake. It hurt so badly that my Mom said I went completely white. I laid there on the table with my mouth wide open, unable to scream, unable to move. Just paralyzed in pain and fear.

    That’s what I think about every time a needle comes near my foot. That’s what I remember and that pain comes back. The toe is gone, but I still feel it. I still feel that pain. In my memory, it never goes away.

    They had warned me, saying that the contrast would feel like a burning sensation. That was NOT a burning sensation. It literally felt like my hand was being carved open, then my fingers were being driven apart by a giant wedge being pounded in between them. Imagine your hands getting slashed apart between each finger, then having a wedge placed between your fingers and a blacksmith pounding at it with a hammer, that’s what it felt like. And believe me, I do at least know what it feels like to have your hands sliced open between your fingers. When I was fifteen, I had an accident with a sharp, exposed gate latch. I was getting ready to walk a friend’s dog and I had the leash around my wrist. The giant samoyed dog leapt right as I was trying to close to gate, which jerked my hand right into the latch, which was essentially just a metal prong. It ripped my hand apart between my thumb and my index finger on my right hand. It cut it so deep that when I looked at my hand, I could see my exposed knuckle. I remember what that was like, so believe me, I know what it feels like to have your hand sliced open between your fingers. Getting these stupid injections felt like that, and then some.

    The normal human foot has a load of nerve endings on the top of it. Loads of them. The bottom of your foot isn’t so bad, but the top, it’s crazy. It’s a bundle of nerves. That’s how you can tell where the end of your foot is, thanks to all those nerves. Now imagine having four times as many. You can’t, I just don’t think anybody could. So getting stuck with a needle in your foot is bad enough, but having that sensation multiplied in magnitude, it’s unbearable.

    So both psychologically AND physically, needles near my feet are just bad news. For that reason, I am so so so so so glad that, during the test yesterday, they decided to stick my hands before my feet.

    Don’t worry, I didn’t let them near my feet. Yesterday, I did not have any injections in my feet at all. I wouldn’t let them. I told them to stop.

    That said, they still did my hands. And this is what happened.

    The way the test is done, they have to do an injection between each and every one of your fingers and each and every one of your toes. The first injection they did on me was on my left hand, between my pinky and my ring finger.

    It hurt like hell. I braced myself for what I imagined was the worst, but it far exceeded that. I immediately burst into tears because the sensation was literally almost exactly like what I remembered feeling the day I was stabbed 12 years ago. The needle-stick wasn’t the problem, it was when they injected the contrast. If it was just the needle stick, I could have handled it. But the contrast…

    They had warned me, saying that the contrast would feel like a burning sensation. That was NOT a burning sensation. It literally felt like my hand was being carved open and my fingers were being driven apart by a giant wedge being pounded in between them. Imagine your fingers getting slashed apart, then having a wedge placed between your fingers and a blacksmith pounding at it with a hammer, that’s what it felt like. And believe me, I do at least know what it feels like to have your hands sliced open between your fingers. When I was fifteen, I had an accident with a sharp, exposed gate latch. I was getting ready to walk a friend’s dog and I had the leash around my wrist. The giant samoyed dog leapt right as I was trying to close to gate, which jerked my hand right into the latch, which was essentially just a metal prong. It ripped my hand apart between my thumb and my index finger on my right hand. It cut it so deep that when I looked at my hand, I could see my exposed knuckle. I remember what that like, so believe me, I know what it feels like to have your hand sliced open between your fingers. Getting these stupid injections felt like that, and then some.

    After the initial shock, the nurse tried to get the second injection done real fast. This one was in between my ring finger and middle finger, still on my left hand. She got that one done, but at this point I was sitting in my wheelchair with my hand up on a medical tray, my foot up on a stool, both of them covered in bedodine. The female nurse was working on my hand, while a nice male nurse was hovering over my foot with a needle ready to start going after my toes. After those first two injections in my hand, however, thankfully the male nurse had stopped and was waiting for me to give the okay to go after my feet. I had warned him ahead of time about the whole thing with my toe and I can’t tell you how glad I am that he listened. The original plan was for them to do my left hand and left foot at the same time, so if he hadn’t listened to me, I would have had to go through the initial shock of both my hand and foot at the same time. I really don’t think I could have handled that. I’m convinced I would have passed out from the pain had that happened.

    But thank heavens for a man who listens! He waited, he never once asked if he could go after my feet, he was just waiting, watching, and being patient. Corey, thank you for that, I really appreciate it! You have NO idea how grateful I am that you waited.

    I needed a few minutes after the first two sticks and honestly, I really didn’t think I could get through it. I was begging my Mom to make them stop, telling the nurse I couldn’t do it, telling my Mom that it felt like the needle stick twelve years ago, all of this through tears. I have to tell you, I have never, ever cried like that during any of my procedures. Ever. Bone debridements, amputation, stroke, all of it, not once I have I cried like that during a procedure. Not once.

    I convinced them not to do my feet. I honestly don’t know how I was able to reason it out with them in the midst of all that, because the pain was still there in my hand. It wasn’t like it went away after the needle was out. It was still there, that wedge. But I convinced them not to do my feet. And I’ll admit, I tried to convince them not to do my hands. I really didn’t know how I was going to handle it. I didn’t think I could. But finally, we decided to keep going. I don’t know how we came to that conclusion, I sure as hell didn’t want to at the time, but we did it.

    So she kept going. My Mom had to hold my arm down because I was so afraid I’d jerk my arm and end up with another needle stick in the bone. The nurse tried to do it as fast as she could, but man, I could feel it. I just couldn’t watch. I literally was hunched over in that wheelchair, gritting my teeth, and screaming through it. I’ve never done that before, I’ve never screamed like that in my life. For a while there I was literally thinking I would rather die than go through that. And honestly, all through it the nurse kept trying to urge me to let her do my feet. No, even now, I would rather die than go through that again. I’m not doing it.

    She finished that hand, then it was time for the next one. She slathered bedodine all over my right hand, Mom held my arm down, and off we went again. Eight shots total and I was exhausted. My throat was coarse and dry from the screaming, my eyes were puffy and stung like hell from all the crying. My back hurt SO bad from the straining, because I was trying so hard not to move my arm that I had all this pent up energy in my spine as I was heaving from the pain, but trying so hard not to move. My back still hurts from it.

    I had to wait about half an hour for the radioactive isotope to travel up through my arms. I could feel it as it moved its way up. It made my hands and fingers swell. I know I’ve mentioned it before, but earlier this summer I kept having pain in my ankles where they would swell up and I always described the sensation as if it felt like something were in between the bones in my ankle, pushing them outward, pulling my ankle apart from the inside out. That’s exactly what it felt like as the isotope moved up my arm. First my hands felt like they were being pushed apart, then my elbow, then my shoulder. My Mom said she even noticed it pooling in my shoulder as it began to swell. It was agonizing. But despite the pain, I had to keep wiggling my poor fingers to try and keep the isotope moving.

    Thankfully I had my PSP with me that my friend Jimi sent me. I meant to bring my iPod that Sabbrielle sent to me, but I accidentally left it at home! But thank heavens, my PSP can play video too! So while I sat in my wheelchair sobbing from the shock and trauma of the procedure, and the pain of the isotope making its way through my body, I watched an episode of Doctor Who on my PSP. It really, really, really helped calm me down, just like it has through previous procedures and trips to the hospital. So thank you, Jimi, your lovely present saved me yet again.

    After that half hour of hell, it was time to get up on the table. At this point I still thought it was going to be several hours on the table, so imagine my relief when the nurse said it would only take ten minutes. My Mom turned on the TV, flipped through the channels, and found the original ‘Yours, Mine & Ours’. I had to just listen to it for a while as the scanner was over my head, but after a few minutes I was able to concentrate on that rather than the pain. Soon enough I was off the table, and even though it felt like I was in that procedure room for ten years, I was out after a few hours.

    I was still in agony, though. My hands still hurt, my elbows, my shoulders, my back, they were all aching. I could barely move my fingers, I could barely hold anything, because not only did they hurt, but they were so red and swollen. I was even starting to bruise.

    I made my Mom take me to get ice cream. I don’t usually eat ice cream out anymore, although I do eat it at home from time to time. Normally it’s just not worth the calories, but that day, I flat out did not care. I made her take me to Coldstone Creamery because I wanted a big huge freaking bowl of cinnamon ice cream. Coldstone doesn’t always stock cinnamon, but thank heavens, they did that day. The nice Indian guy behind the counter even gave me a little extra. 🙂 Of course, once I saw the chocolate-and-sprinkle-coated waffle bowls, I wanted one of those too. Thankfully Mom agreed, so I got a big huge waffle bowl full of cinnamon ice cream and chocolate cake batter ice cream. No toppings, I didn’t want to adulterate it. I didn’t care that I couldn’t eat the whole thing right away, that just meant I had more for later.

    Since Target was right by the ice cream place, I sat in the car eating my ice cream while my Mom ran into Target to get me ‘Jon & Kate Plus 8’ on DVD. I wanted nothing more than to lay down in my bed, eat my ice cream, and watch a happy show, so I made my Mom go get it at Target. 🙂 Then, as soon as I got home, I laid down, I ate my ice cream, and I watched my happy show.

    My hands are still bruised. They still hurt. In fact, I probably shouldn’t be typing, but I always feel better once I’ve written stuff like this out. It’s cathartic; I can write it out, expunge it from my mind, and be done with it. Of course the memories are still there, but they somehow don’t seem as strong after I’ve written them out. Hence the reason for this rant. It’s out, it’s done, and now my bruised hands and I can go back to laying down and watch the cute little Gosselin kids play and be cute. Even though my Coldstone ice cream is gone, I’m even kinda tempted to get my Dad to scoop me up some more ice cream… It’s amazing the wrongs that can be semi-righted with a little bit of ice cream and some happy kids dancing around on your TV screen. 🙂

    After all that, I still only accomplished half of the test that was ordered. They were supposed to visualize my entire body, hence why they were going to stick my feet. But I don’t care. We got half my body, the half that actually started with the swelling. So Dr. Herbst the Dercum’s Expert can look at that and that’s good enough for me. I’m not going through that again. I would honestly rather die. I just can’t handle it anymore. So even though the nurse’s final words to me were instructions to call her back and schedule the second half of the test, sorry, but I never want to see the Nuclear Medicine department at Fairfax Hospital again. You guys were nice and all, and I’m really thankful for you guys being so cooperative, but hell no. Hell will freeze over before I do that again.

    Thanks to Corey the Super Nurse for listening to me, being compassionate, and not going after my feet. Thanks to the female nurse (I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name!) for trying to get through it as quickly as possible. Thanks to the lady at the front desk for giving me cookies. Thanks to Jimi for the PSP, yet again it totally saved the day. Thanks to Sabbrielle again for the iPod, even though I forgot to bring it with me (I thought it was in my bag, but oops, I forgot to put it in there.) Having videos at my disposal after things like this really, really, really keep me sane more than anything else. Thanks to my Mom for everything she does and for getting me ice cream and DVDs. And thanks to Dr. Herbst for all she does to take care of me and figure this horrid disease out. And thanks to Dr. Huang, who I’ll be seeing soon to bug him about pain medication. 🙂

    And thanks to all of you, for tolerating my ranting blog entries. 🙂