This week, I expected day 2 (Shabbat) would be pretty miserable. Naively, I did not expect tummy troubles on day 3 (Sunday).
I woke up and almost immediately needed to take a Loperamide (Imodium). In just over 24 hours, I took 9 Loperamide pills.
A few weeks ago, my oncologist gave me instructions to contact him if I needed over 6 pills and to go straight to the hospital if I needed 8 pills.
I jotted off a quick note to my oncologist, explaining the current workings of my bowels and my desire to avoid going to the ER. He called and advised that I "drink like a fish."
I went to my Sunday morning shiur (Torah study class), tried to ignore my upset tummy, and drank, and drank, and drank.
After class, I drove to Hadassah for my second MRI in two weeks.
On my way, I stopped to pick up more Loperamide. My stomach was grumbling a lot and I worried that I might need to use the bathroom in the middle of the MRI, which would mess up the test. The next time I needed to take a pill, I took two, just to be safe.
At Hadassah, I ran into a friend of mine, KB, who is waiting for a new heart. She has been in the hospital for over a month and will be there until she gets a heart ("if I only had a heart..."). Always looking for something interesting to do, she joined me while I waited for my MRI. We swapped "war stories."
Soon enough, the technician called me in for the MRI.
Inside the "inner chamber," I stretched out my left arm so the nurse could insert the needle for the contrast. It was easier this time. I think she used a smaller needle.
Once inside the MRI machine, I drifted off to sleep. I woke as the doctor tried to inject the contrast... and failed.
Something was going wrong, but I could not see and nobody was explaining anything. I could feel the staff poking and prodding my arm.
They removed the needle, but the pain got worse.
I complained about the pain and was told "the needle is out; there is nothing else to do." As the pain increased, my tolerance level decreased. I found myself crying in pain, with no one to help me.
They removed me from the
I did not want another needle stuck in me, but I also did not want to do the test without the contrast.
Eventually, I allowed the nurse to spary a topical anesthetic on my hand and insert the needle there.
When the MRI was finally over, I felt battered and worn out.
I know that I will have pain, not to mention big black and blue marks, on my arm and hand.
I know this should not be such a big deal.
I hate the pain and the humiliation.
At night, my arm still felt sore, as it does now (the next day).
Moshe was sympathetic, but there was nothing he could do to help.
I felt sorry for him, knowing how sad he felt for not being able to make me feel better.
Mostly, I felt sorry for myself.
At the end of the day, I was so worn out, I could not even blog.
As I nodded off in front of my computer, I forced myself to get up and dragged myself to bed.
I just wanted to fall into bed and I could not even do that!
My sheets were still in the laundry!!
This was just too much for me.
I called out to Moshe that I was going to sleep on the couch.
"Why?" He asked, confused.
"My bed's not made and I just can't wait," I whined, as I flopped onto the couch and crawled under the covers.
I just wanted this horrible day to end.
Within seconds, I was fast asleep.
Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.
With love and optimism,