You'll be transported by cart

Even though this week has been short in the sense that we were coming off of a three day weekend, it was the longest week yet in terms of appointments, tests, and preparing for the upcoming chemo treatments.

Tuesday put my patience to the test as I had a PET/CT scan to determine what stage of lymphoma I have (only stage 2!). After doing some research about PET scans to assure my father that they in fact DID NOT take my dog, Jenny and hover scan her over my body, I was expecting about an hour long appointment. Man, was I surprised when Ted let me back to a room measuring 6'x4' in size, containing one chair and informed me I would have to wait an hour and half by myself for the injection of radioactive sugar to circulate. Um, excuse me, Ted? Obviously you do not know me and my childlike tendencies including the fact that it is very difficult for me to sit ALONE for any period of time, much less an hour and half. But Ted insisted that I sit there and only get up if I have to pee. So I sat. When Ted came back after 90 minutes, I was so relieved to be done waiting. My relief was soon squashed though as we entered the scanning area and he informed me the scan itself would take another 30 minutes. Thirty minutes sounded doable until he started strapping me to the tiny bed! With a strap holding my head in place and a strap immobilizing my arms, I felt as if I were being prepared for the asylum rather than a scan. After a total time of two and half hours including registration, preparation, and scanning, we finally left and I went back to work slightly radioactive.

Wednesday was not too noteworthy other than the fact that I went in for surgery to have a port placed. Ugh. This was the most dreaded appointment thus far. Number one, I was not looking forward to surgery again. Number two, the idea of having a port kind of gives me the heebie jeebies. The surgery went well, no dropped lungs or excessive bleeding, just a bump on my chest where I have a foreign object in my body.

Thursday I met with my oncologist to discuss the results of the PET/CT scan and determine a firm plan of action. I was relieved to hear that the cancer is only in stage 2 and I will only have to undergo 8 chemotherapy treatments over the course of 16 weeks. After I am done with chemo cycles, I will have radiation daily for an unknown amount of time.

Friday started off in the most hilarious way. In order to prepare for chemo and the unlikely, but possible, side effects, baseline testing must be done on my pulmonary and cardiovascular function. After registering for my pulmonary function test, kind Holly informed me that Cindy would be meeting me just around the corner to take me to the testing place. "You'll be transported by cart," were the exact words that came out of her mouth next. What does that mean? What type of cart? Are we talking shopping cart? Ambulance cart? Where are we going? Across campus? Outside? But time did not allow me to ask any of these questions as Cindy pulled up in a golf cart and said "Hop on!" Poor Shane barely managed to make it on before Cindy opened that baby up and we were off. Zooming down the halls of the hospital, acquiring many skeptical glances as to the reason a very able looking 23 year old is riding in a golf cart, I informed Cindy that this all seemed a bit excessive. She said, "Yeah, but I don't have very good walking shoes on and it is kind of a long walk. And most people I am taking to the pulmonary lab have trouble breathing and to get a good test they shouldn't be walking and getting all out of breath." Well, there you have it, the reason I, a 23 year old Health Fitness Specialist, rode in a golf cart down the halls of the hospital.

After lots of different breathing tests, the lady told me that my next test was across the street at the cancer center (even though the day before I specifically asked where the cardio test would be and was informed it would be in the same place as the pulmonary test). When I arrived at registration and told the ladies I was there for a MUGA test, they looked at me like I was slightly crazy. They told me that the MUGA machine is out of order and has been for a while. They were surprised that no one called me. Off they went to investigate. They brought over a third lady that claimed she tried calling me the day before to let me know. According to her, my cell phone didn't have a voicemail (whose cell phone doesn't have a voicemail?). So she left a message at work for me. Oh really? I never received a message. "Did you get to my voicemail? Did it say my name?" I asked her. She looked at me quizzically and said, "No, it said Bubba's BBQ." With my work uniform on, I hold out my name tag and show her that I do not work at Bubba's BBQ. Do I look like I work at Bubba's BBQ? After double checking that the number they have on file for work is correct, the crazy lady admits to possibly dialing the wrong number.

Normal Lori would have been frustrated at the fact that they didn't tell me the right place to go for my test and irate that I wasn't informed of the out of order machine and drove all the way up there for nothing. But I had already enjoyed a hilarious transport in a golf cart that morning and am starting to learn great patience with the whole medical system through this process.