Tales from inside the MRI tube


I had my MRI bright and early this morning, a feat in and of itself for my mom and me to get there on time. I didn’t really know what to expect again as I’ve been a ridiculously healthy person all my life. (Thanks to those of you who attempted to prepare me verbally.) There was a little paperwork to fill out beforehand which I did mindlessly for about the dozenth time in the last few months. When I brought it back to the receptionist, I asked about the procedure and couldn’t figure out why she was staring at me as if I showed up at the medical center painted blue and walking a duck on a leash. And then I realized what I said,

When I go in for the MRI, will I be wearing only my wedding gown?

I guess I was more nervous than I thought … and maybe still a little Xanax’ed. I tried to correct myself but then the word ‘bridal’ then came out of my mouth. What the F was wrong with my brain? I finally forced my mouth to spit out the word ‘hospital’ and she smiled and said yes, probably moving her letter openers and other sharp instruments from the counter to underneath her desk as I walked away.

I sat only a few more minutes until they called my name. When I walked past my mom to go to the back with the tech, she reached up and high-fived me. ??? I was, of course, expecting a more stereotypical hug and words of encouragement from this very sentimental woman … but I think the hardwiring in her brain is a little whacked right now, too.

The tech brought me to a dressing room where I changed into my HOSPITAL gown and then moved on with her into the MRI room. I lay on the table with a wedge pillow under my knees while she put an egg crate cushion and then the brains of the whole device on my chest. She gave me a ‘panic ball’ (which looked a hell of a lot like a nasal aspirator) to hold in my left hand in case I felt the need for immediate ejection from the tube. She asked if I wanted my eyes covered to avoid feelings of claustrophobia. I said yes. And she placed the headphones on my ears. Friends told me to bring my iPod but I forgot. And I wouldn’t have been able to use it anyway. Her headphones allowed her to talk with me and play music between her instructions. She asked what I wanted to listen to and my mind went blank. ‘What are my choices?’ I asked, completely spoiled by the XM radio menu in my car. “Anything FM,” she said. I rattled off the only local call letters I could think of and found myself quickly tuned into a New Orleans easy listening station. Lionel Richie. Great.

She left the room and began the LOUDspeaker communication … and starting sucking me into the tube, head first. Unfortunately, I instinctively opened my eyes and realized that I could see the ceiling of the tube, which I was pretty sure was so close that I could touch it with my tongue if I tried. And, no, I didn’t like it. She kept moving me into the tube until I was waist-deep within it. At that point, the movement stopped and she asked if I was okay. I said, “As long as you’re not taking me into this thing any further.” She said she wasn’t, so I exhaled and decided to keep my eyes closed and attempt to relax to the smooth stylings of now-playing REO Speedwagon.

Anyone who tells you that he can sleep in the tube is lying his ass off, by the way. The noise was incredible. It vacillated between loud siren sounds and jackhammers. I closed my eyes and pretended to be in my favorite hotel room in New York City. Those sounds are extremely commonplace there, and I hear them all the time from my bed while on vacation. This ‘happy place’ thinking seemed to work for me. Until I realized I had been holding my breath the whole time and I flinched when I suddenly had to draw in a quick breath to keep from fainting on the table. Which meant we had to do that round of tests again.

There was a lot of “Take a deep breath … and hold it …” until I often felt like I was going to faint during the whole process anyway. I don’t know if these repeated loudspeaker instructions are normal or if they were just required for me because an inflated lung is easier to inspect than a deflated one. I just did what I was told. Over and over and over again. Until they told me that they had to put in an IV to inject me with some substance to help enhance the images again. (Remember the CT scan?)

After a good bit of pain getting the IV in while I was still all covered on the table, the tech told me that the vein she was working with was no good so she’d need to do it again. She then gave me THE singlemost painful needle insertion I’ve ever experienced in my life. I actually apologized for the howl I let out. But at least the f-er was in now. And she said that this injectable dye would not give me the urinating sensation I got with the CT scan injectable. But I did get the mouth-full-of-turpentine, chemical taste again. (I honestly wonder about the damage I’m doing to myself with injectable dyes, multiple x-rays, CT scans which are said to equal 100 x-rays each, MRIs, etc.)

Now with this foreign chemical surging through my veins, they took another whole series of images … and friends like Michael Jackson, Norah Jones and Oasis kept me company. After about an hour, I was able to get up, get dressed and return to my mom, who kept herself busy on her iPad in the waiting area. My results are expected by Monday. Surgery is guaranteed, but there are still a lot of questions surrounding it that I’m hoping things like this MRI will help to answer.

More soon ….

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Meeting the thoracic surgeon today and planning the next steps


It’s now the end of another long day. I had my specialist appointment today. He was very knowledgeable and had a great bedside manner. And he is apparently the best in his field anywhere in this area.

Thankfully, my husband and father came along with me or there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be able to report on a damned thing. For every ‘it has the look of a benign mass’ there was a ‘we can easily collapse the lung and remove a chunk of it or your chest wall to get everything out.’ (Deep breaths.) He does this kind of thing every day. But I don’t.

Following the appointment, my husband carefully scripted the following text that we have now collectively forwarded to more than fifty people:

“We saw the thoracic surgeon today. He looked at the CAT scan, etc. He seemed pretty confident that the mass is benign, again citing shape, location and density. But we won’t know for sure until he is in there. Regardless of what it is, he wants to go in, check it out and remove it. He might be able to do everything thoracoscopically but will be prepared to go in with traditional surgery to remove it if necessary. The next step is an MRI, which will happen either Friday or Monday. We should also have a surgery date by Monday. It will probably happen right after Thanksgiving.”

Since his text, we have scheduled my MRI for the crack of dawn tomorrow morning. Which will be good practice for the 5am arrival time I’ve already been quoted for the upcoming surgery. I am a big baby about sleep. I love it and don’t like ending it so early in the morning. So, the sweats I’m sleeping in tonight added to a ponytail and possible toothbrushing should complete my morning regimen before my mom (who is sleeping here tonight) and I head out tomorrow morning.

I had another little moment of anxiety today when the surgery options were being explained to me. A little dizziness as I’m prone to nervous fainting and some nausea. So I was prescribed a little oral ‘help’ from my doctor and am feeling well enough to write everything down tonight before I fall asleep. (Here’s hoping I sound lucid.) Writing about everything may seem odd at a time like this one but organizing my brain is helpful, even therapeutic, for me. So thanks for listening.

And please continue to keep my friend in your thoughts and prayers. She still really needs all the positivity she can get.

Talk to everyone soon. Oh, and if you’ve ever had an MRI, I’d love details and advice for tomorrow. Thanks, all.

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Waiting in the thoracic specialist’s office … and thinking about Spam


Waiting in the specialist’s office hoping he can give me some answers … and realizing how lucky I am. I am blessed. Sure, I have an unexplained lung mass … but I am blessed. With the most amazingly supportive network of friends and family for which a girl could ask. I don’t know why I was awarded this gift or why I so often take it for granted. Regardless, I’m glad to be sitting here with my husband and my dad. And everyone else. In spirit.

I will be fine, by the way.

Oh, and it’s my Dad’s birthday. And he’s spending it seated next to me in this waiting room all morning.

Happy birthday, Dad.

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A friend of mine made this magnificent Spam cake for my dad’s milestone birthday last year.

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I forgot to mention yesterday that I am not a smoker


It’s been a long day.  I had my CT scan this morning.  I had no idea what to expect.  Thanks, by the way, to my many new Twitter friends who tried to fill me in on the process.  In short, they put in an IV so that I could be injected with an iodine-based dye that ‘highlights’ my veins and organs for the test.  They warned me that I would likely feel a warm sensation spreading down the length of my torso and that I might feel as I though I was peeing.  It was a completely accurate description.  Plus, you feel a lot like you have a mouth full of turpentine. And pennies. But, thankfully, it only lasts a few minutes.

When I came out of my CT scan, my doctor was outside waiting for me.  I had no idea these kinds of doctors still existed.  She even had a coffee in her hand waiting for me. Or my husband. Or my dad. Whoever wanted it. A Starbucks latte she picked up on her way over.  Love her.

She set me up to see a lung specialist tomorrow.  He will be reviewing my x-rays and CT scans and hopefully letting me know what’s going on.  There are a lot of possible theories. Some I like more than others.  But, at this point, everything is merely speculation.

In the meantime, please continue sending your good vibes to my friend who is now out of surgery but still in critical condition. She is a two-time transplant patient and thus matters are that much more complicated.  At this point in the game, I am still just a question mark.  She is not.  And she needs as much positive energy as she can get.

And while I’m on that subject, please allow me to express an enormous thank you to everyone in my life who in some form contacted me today for myself, my friend or both of us.  I literally did not put my phone down for about six consecutive hours today attempting to respond to the mindboggling outpouring of concern and support.

It helps. More than you know.

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This blog entry is the hardest one I’ve written to date


Will insurance cover any complications that arise during elective surgery?

Remember the question my husband keeps asking the doctors … and how the answer we keep hearing is basically … NO?  For this reason, all breast doctors want you to get a mammogram before surgery.  Some doctors (Doctor 1 in our case) even want you to get a full physical workup. By doing so and ruling out any potential health issues beforehand, your risk of problems during surgery drop to almost nothing.

Seemed like a pretty good idea to me. Plus I haven’t had a good workup in years.  “Years” meaning never.  So, I decided to bite the bullet and submit to a complete medical examination and all the joys that go along with it.  It’s always good to know where your health stands anyway, right? I called my regular doctor … which resulted in a general exam (weight, blood pressure, etc.), blood tests and a surprise PAP (and it wasn’t even my birthday) yesterday as well as chest x-rays and an EKG today.

Some, not all, of the results are in.  The blood work is fine.  Always good to hear. Unfortunately, the chest x-ray (the first I’ve ever received) is not.

I have a tumor. On my right lung.  On the pleura (lining) of my right lung.  Which, apparently, if you’re going to have a tumor on your lung is the best place to have it.  About the size of a ping pong ball.  Or a jawbreaker.  Believe it or not, this was debated for a few minutes.

They don’t know what it is. So, I’m going in for a cat scan tomorrow. My husband and my parents know. And two of my good friends.  And now you.

For the record, yes, I am concerned.  More so than with the breast lump we discovered six weeks ago.  And pissed off with myself for being concerned.  I have a good friend in the hospital who is actually having surgery tomorrow to have a mass removed.  If you send out any good vibes tonight, send them to her.  She needs them.  I need a good night’s sleep. And maybe a valium. I’ll be fine.

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How slammed is your life when a garbage run can’t fit into your busy hoarding schedule?


During my travels today, I came across this car … and I’m wondering if anyone else finds it as disturbing as I do.

These pictures really don’t do it justice. The windows were (mercifully) up and I snapped these shots with an iPhone camera very quickly … sort of from within my shirt … as I was keenly aware (read: hysterically paranoid) that I could be tackled from behind at any moment by a crazed hoarder.

Clearly, this person has no family as the only accessible (and I use the term very loosely) seat in the car is the driver’s seat. Also, I can’t be certain but I think he has a GREAT love of fountain-style cola beverages. As well as many other assorted snacks and, apparently, all of their valuable containers and packagings. I saw everything from paper cups, frozen dinner trays, political flyers, styrofoam bits, etc.

This car, which I inappropriately circled several times with my mouth literally hanging open, absolutely mesmerized me.  I have always been someone who my family and friends would classify as the polar opposite of a hoarder.  A minimalist.  A neat freak even. I tried to google a comparable, clinical term for my affliction but the best I could find was ‘purger.’ 

Yeah, I didn’t like it either.  Sounds like a very different type of affliction to me.

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The Ghosts of ODNT Past


As promised, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything. And reviewing my thoughts from the last (almost) three months.  I sat in a coffee shop for hours recently … sifting through every single one of my blog entries to date … searching for clues of where my real feelings lie.  And I don’t even drink coffee!  Chamomile tea and a banana managed to sustain my right to loiter at the bar on my laptop all that time.

Anyway, over the course of my walk through ODNTs past, I came up with the following little jewels …

  • August 22,2011I sort of feel like I want to reclaim some of who and what I was before becoming a mother. Physically, I was a woman with a flat stomach and boobs in the right place.
  • August 26, 2011I am unhappy with my post-breastfeeding body and I am merely looking to restore it to its original form. I am not, repeat NOT, looking to Pamela Anderson-ize myself.
  • August 31,2011They’ve never been huge. But, at one time, they were at least what I would have called “inflated” … as well as situated correctly on my chest.  (And from later in the same entry)  So I started thinking about it. And checking myself out in front of the mirror, lifting things up to where they used to be. To where they’re supposed to be.
  • September 14, 2011She (Doctor 1) said that, particularly on a smaller person like myself, oversized breasts will actually create a look of added weight overall on a woman’s frame.
  • September 22, 2011She (the mammogram technician) said that, while there are arguments stating that under-the-muscle placement does decrease the odds of an implant causing a visual obstruction in a mammogram, there are still no guarantees that a problem couldn’t form behind that implant and thereby be invisible to the technicians. Cancer cells, tumors and other problems can occur anywhere in the breast tissue so no placement is one hundred percent foolproof.
  • October 8, 2011He (Doctor 5) said that the biggest mistake women make is going too big or too wide. He added that women should look to correct and improve the shape of their breasts and not just be worried about their volume. He actually said smaller breasts are “more elegant,” which I’m pretty sure makes me Audrey Hepburn.
  • October 30, 2011Okay. I’m definitely getting a lift. That’s the one thing every doctor … and even my mom … agreed on.

I feel like I’m finally starting to get a little clarity here.  And I’m finally starting to see the answer through the murky fog and haze.  Maybe.

Does anyone else see it, too?

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A sudden and unexpected visit back to Doctor 1


Doctor report number NINE. I can’t tell you how much I’m pushing myself to write this one. And … believe it or not … for the first time since this project began, I did not take any notes during this appointment.  I planned to take notes. I even brought my little breast doctor notebook with me, confirmed that I had a functioning pen (there are never any guarantees in my world) and opened both of them as I waited for the doctor to come in. Literally poised to begin scribbling.

But I took none and, thus, we are limited to the confines of my memory for details about this big event.  God help us all.

Anyway … as I mentioned a few days ago, I decided rather spontaneously that (along with Doctors 4&5) I wanted to give Doctor 1 a second visit.  ‘Spontaneously’ is sort of true and sort of not true.  Doctor 1 has never left my mind (and, apparently, the mind of a few other readers as well).  I mentioned that I was still thinking about her as we entered round two (10/20/11)  and even made a follow-up appointment with her office at that time that I was forced to cancel due to a family issue. So, a few days ago, I stopped hemming and hawing about the whole thing and called her office. And she was able to see me immediately. My husband was not able to rearrange his schedule this week to come, so my mom came along for the appointment.

We got there a few minutes late and the staff was already waiting for us so we went right in.  Doctor 1 came in, met my mom and we got to talking about everything immediately. I was pleased/delighted/tickled (whatever, you get the point) to learn that she’s been keeping up with the blog and thus knew a lot of what I’d been told along the way.

I explained to her that I had gotten caught up in “blog fever” and was following the direct path dictated by the voting … but that her name had never left the front burners of my brain. I explained that, while I felt very fortunate to be choosing from two great doctors for a mini-lift/implants combination surgery, her recommendation of a full lift and very possibly no implants sounded like a good option for me as well.

Didn’t I start this whole thing saying I felt saggy from years of breastfeeding?  It’s really problem one that I was (and am) looking to solve.  I never wanted to make myself huge.

My mother and I talked to Doctor 1 about everything we’ve learned so far from the other doctors.  For the record, Doctor 1 is a saline as well as an over-the-muscle believer.  I was on the same page with her on the first point but was unsure about the second.  But we weren’t really talking implants at this point.  We were talking full lifts.  And, while she certainly made me feel as though she’s seen much worse cases than mine in this area, we both agreed that it would be the easiest and least complicated way to get me to my goal of physical, pre-breastfeeding restoration.

Further, she’s not a big proponent at all of the whole mini-lift. She says the crescent incision on the top of the nipple does very little to raise things up and often the nipple stretches to fill in the areas where it was and where it is now creating a rather oversized end result.

I think at this point I actually volunteered to take my top off.  It was the best way for Doctor 1 to explain to my mother the technique involved with the full lift.  So, off came my top and out came her breastmarking pen.  (I’m guessing it must have other uses but who knows?)  Inking in the exact placement of the cuts really enabled both of us to see exactly how things would fall (or rather rise) in place. And this literal blueprint allowed me to bring the proposed plan home to my husband so he’d be in the know about everything, too.

Now, we were ready to see some before and after pictures. Doctor 1 took us into her office and shared them from her computer.  (I want to point out that she is the only doctor who personally handles the “aftertalk” of pictures, finances and other questions with her patients. Everyone else had an assistant. I like this personal touch.) Again, she showed us images of several women who opted merely for a full lift over implants, or perhaps went that route after removing implants from a botched job.  And these ladies all looked great.  Very natural. The higher, more consolidated breast tissue actually seemed (visually) to increase the overall volume on some level.  Or so I thought.  And, with a full lift-only surgery, there would be less risk and overall maintenance.  Definitely something to think about.

My mother asked my husband’s ‘What about insurance and complications arising from elective surgery?’ question. Doctor 1 was very frank. She said ultimately that any complications brought on by this surgery would not be covered by insurance. But then she said a few things that enabled me to exhale.  First of all, she said that every patient who undergoes this and similar procedures in her practice must first submit to a complete physical (in addition to the mammogram required by all other doctors) to rule out the potential for any health anomalies or other irregularities that can occur during surgery.  She said that approximately once a year they discover a health issue in a patient that prevents the surgery from moving forward.  Of course, it’s never a big deal because it is caught beforehand.

Once a patient’s health is cleared through the physical, the chance of a complication arising during the surgery is very slim.  She said that she has had only one person come down with an infection since Katrina (the Hurricane – it’s still how we classify things chronologically in New Orleans – it’s like saying ‘B.C.’ around here) and she was able to treat her quickly and easily with oral antibiotics.  She added that, like the other surgeons we interviewed in round two, she fully guarantees her work and would not charge a patient for any repair or revisions that might be necessary.

I left the office feeling very good about the appointment. I was glad my mom had gotten the chance to meet Doctor 1 and ask her questions but sorry that my husband had missed it.  We walked to the car together and I felt my stomach turn at the thought of writing yet another doctor report.

Oh, and I made a mental note to drive very carefully so as to avoid any kind of accident.  Mothers talk a lot about the importance of ‘clean underwear’ in these situations but I don’t ever remember hearing any warnings about the potential embarrassment of strategically inked-up boobs in a crisis.  And, for the record, I’ve showered three times since this appointment and I’m still wearing the markings.  They’re a little faded but I could still totally demonstrate Doctor 1’s proposed full lift technique in a pinch. (Pardon the pun.)

And now, I need to go think about this whole thing.  A lot.  So much so that I sort of expect my brain to start smoking.

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Every good (boob) story has to have a plot twist


According to Wikipedia …

A plot twist is a change in the expected direction or outcome of the plot of a film, television series, video game, novel, comic or other fictional work. It is a common practice in narration used to keep the interest of an audience, usually surprising them with a revelation.

Today, I did something without telling anyone in advance.  I went to see Doctor 1 again, this time with my mom.  I really wish my husband could have come with me, too, but my decision to return to this doctor was so spontaneous that his work schedule wouldn’t allow it.

If you recall, she was the first doctor I met.  She listened to what I had to say and recommended that, if anything, we start with a lift, a full one, to bring me back to my pre-pregnancy, pre-breastfeeding body.  Further, she recommended that we leave it at that for now.  Once healed from that surgery, I could later decide if I still wanted augmentation which would be handled in a separate surgery.  She said many of her patients are so satisfied with the lift that they opt out of the second (augmentation) surgery.

Some “twists” are foreshadowed and can thus be predicted by many viewers/readers, whereas others are a complete shock.

On October 20th, in an entry entitled Round 2 – A Second Visit to Boob Doctor 5 (this time with the spouse along for the ride), I wrote “Doctor 1 is still in the back of my mind, too.  I like that she is a she. I like that I told her about my blog.  I like that she was willing to digest everything I learned from all of the other doctors with me.  I had actually made a follow-up appointment with her as well but had to cancel due to a family illness.  She’s still floating around in my brain somewhere.”

When a plot twist happens near the end of a story, especially if it changes one’s view of the preceding events, it is known as a twist ending.

So, I rescheduled with Doctor 1 again and went to this appointment with my (wonderfully supportive) mom today.  We had another very positive experience with her and I learned that she has, in fact, been checking in with ODNT.  So let’s send her a big shout out in case she’s reading today.  (Hi, Doctor 1!)

Holy crap, I have a lot to think about. And I can’t BELIEVE I just assigned myself another damned report to write.  This will be my … (gulp) … ninth!

I promise it’s coming soon.  Along with my decision.

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My young daughter’s “Ultimate Wedding Dress”


I love ‘Fall Back’ weekend. The extra hour I get always feels like three or four to me and, frankly, I think we should do it every weekend. Who among us can’t use the spare time?

By the time my head hit the pillow last night, I was exhausted from my extra hour (that I had actually used for sleeping the night prior so I really can’t explain my fatigue). I slept decently (despite the cat’s hourly efforts at sabotage) and woke up pretty easily since the sun rose earlier. I figured maybe my kids would, too. Wrong.

When I went into my son’s room, I found him sound asleep and fairly unresponsive to my (sometimes literal) wake up song and dance, as is the norm on any day where school is in session. When I went into my daughter’s room, I found her equally unconscious. But when I pulled back her covers to wake her, I discovered that she was already dressed for the day. Apparently, she woke up bright and early on her own this morning, glanced at her as-yet-unchanged little girl watch and dressed for school in the den by herself. She never found it odd that her parents and older brother were all still out cold in their beds. Then, at some point, seeing the accurate kitchen clock and realizing her mistake, she decided simply to return to her room and grab an extra hour of sleep. Which is how I found her all tucked away in her bed.

But what a timesaver it was this morning!

Anyway, in honor of my little nut job, I am sharing yet another drawing she prepared specifically for this blog. I’m not sure why she’s designing wedding gowns now but I don’t usually ask such questions. And I’m wondering what my friend, Suzanne (a professional designer in this industry) will think of her very unique creation. I mean, there are cherry pits actually sewn into the ruffle.  You saw it here first, my friends.

Introducing the Ultimate Wedding Dress …

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