10 E-mail: the heart scan

3/25/2006

I'm so glad the scans are over. I had no idea they would each be so emotionally draining. Every scan I went to created a separation from my baby and that was stressful. The people who treated me with compassion made the experience easier to bear, but it took a lot of energy to stay calm and follow directions and endure the various discomforts.

The heart scan yesterday hit me very hard emotionally. I'm still puzzled why it affected me so deeply, but I ended up crying at everything and nothing throughout the day even though I was treated well at the hospital radiology lab.

A MUGA heart scan involves drawing a little bit of blood, mixing it with an isotope and a tracer, and injecting it back into the body. The isotope makes the red blood cells show up in the special picture taken of the heart and the tracer makes the isotope stick to the red blood cells.

Because the chemotherapy port is in one good vein in my left arm (near the elbow) and the bone scan technician mangled the other good vein near the elbow, and because the South Austin Hospital technician didn't know how to put the IV in the side of my arm like the labor & delivery nurses do at Seton, she had to go with my hand. The back of my hand was marked from the IV done on Monday for the CT scan and the IV done on Wednesday for the surgery. She hated to use my hand again, but the right hand is off limits and the left hand didn't leave many choices.

So she got the IV started but it took a couple of attempts. And once the IV was in the vein wouldn't give her any of my blood to use for the isotope so she had to do a direct stick in addition to the IV line to draw my blood. That was also in my hand, close to the wrist.

I sat very still in the chair trying not to move, thinking of how hard it is to diaper the baby when he wriggles. Unlike the nurse Wednesday who started the IV before surgery, the technician yesterday didn't use anything to numb the area, so getting the IV hurt. I just thought about labor and how much that hurt, and on a sliding scale this was nothing. I used the breathing techniques I learned for labor and I focused on keeping still, relaxing, and just breathing deeply. I survived the IV and the needle stick. I didn't cry because it hurt. I cried because I wanted to be at home with my baby and not in a lab getting stuck repeatedly with needles. The technician handed me my purse so I could get my tissues out with my "good" hand and she sympathized with my situation. She's a diabetic and gets stuck all the time and she knows this was no fun. She tried really hard to minimize the pain.

The scan itself was painless. I lay on a long, narrow table while cameras moved and adjusted on their robotic arms. They came close to my body but didn't touch me. The smoothness with which the cameras moved scared me a little. I don't know why, but they made me think of the movie Aliens and the way the aliens uncurled before they attacked people in the first scene where they demolished the platoon. I found myself worried that the cameras would go crazy and crush me as I lay on the table, so I closed my eyes and reminded myself that the nice technician controlled the cameras and they would only take pictures of my heart.

There were three pictures that took 10 minutes each to see how the left ventricle of my heart is doing. This is a baseline scan so I can expect to repeat this scan one or more times during my chemotherapy treatments. I had to keep my arms above my head the whole time and lay very still, but unlike the bone scan I wasn't strapped down to prevent movement. Kelric sleeps with his arms above his head, so I drowsed and thought of my baby. I even thought I heard him fussing several times. Eventually I fell asleep and dreamed about Kelric.

Once the heart scan was over the technician helped me sit up from the table. I needed and appreciated the help. That was a subtle improvement over the bone scan experience. After the bone scan Tuesday the technician turned her back to me and looked at the scanned images on a computer while I struggled to get off the table myself. I remember feeling annoyed. There I was newly diagnosed with breast cancer (emotionally fragile) and still healing from having given birth the week before (physically fragile), and she made no offer to help me get off the narrow little bone scan table. It was as if her body language was shouting, “Hurry up!” at me. Yesterday’s experience was so different I’m especially glad that I asked to have the procedure done at a different lab.

When I'm taking care of Kelric, I forget about the cancer. If I think of it then it's only with ferocity directed at fighting it and surviving. But when the sutures from surgery itch or hurt, I remember the cancer. When my left arm with the port feels like I'm squeezing it too tight because I'm folding the arm to give Kelric a bottle or to burp him, I remember the cancer. When I remember that I can’t bear to burp him on the right side yet because it’s too soon after surgery and it still hurts, I remember the cancer and I start to cry. At those times there is no ferocity. There is only exhaustion. I probably have the baby blues at times as well, but the post partum emotional aftermath is all swirled around the breast cancer current events. I can't separate them.

It's the weekend. Guy is home. We're taking turns taking care of Kelric and I'm tired but soothed. I find that short visits and short phone calls from friends are nice. Long conversations always get interrupted by Kelric needing something, but people understand.

Kelric is already growing and changing. He goes to the pediatrician for a checkup on Tuesday. We can tell he’s gained weight. I’m curious about how much.

I get to avoid needles until Wednesday. We’re meeting with the oncologist again to discuss the specifics of my chemotherapy treatments now that the scans are done and lab results should be in. There will be more lab work done on fresh samples of my blood Wednesday before we see the doctor. I wonder what vein will be used then? Maybe I’ll hide my hands and offer a leg. Yeah. Legs are good.

Angela

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