So...as many of you gathered from The Facebook, I had my second liver biopsy yesterday. This was technically something that I elected to do in order to find better treatments for my cancer. (Quick recap: they will send my gooshy liver tissue (I got to look at it...yum) off to a company who does targeted treatment studies of my tumors and my blood (I think) to find a customized treatment plan for moi).
Beforehand, I was "pretty" gungho about doing this. My usual..."I'll try anything that could help" approach. However, as the procedure time got closer and closer, my apprehension and anxiety increased. My first liver biopsy was no walk in the park and I really couldn't believe I was going to put my poor little liver through this again.
Originally scheduled for 1pm, they had my parents and I arrive at the hospital at noon. I already knew prior to arrival that the procedure time had been moved back by one hour to 2pm. But, they like you there 2 hours prior to the procedure so that they can torture you and make you miserable. Seriously, I don't know what they need 2 hours for.
Well, it turns out that they needed more than 2 hours for me. We spent the first 45 minutes in the regular waiting room. When I asked how far behind they were, they didn't have an answer, but they moved my parents and I to another empty waiting area. Ha ha. Our own little space. After about another hour, I asked "My procedure isn't going to be at 2pm, is it?"...to which they had no answer, but they brought me a bed, a gown and a blanket and set me up in that within our "private waiting area". Interesting customer service policy, no?
Not long after that, they moved me to my official pre/post-surgery "bay". This was more exciting for me because there were nurses and doctors and other patients, etc. to keep me entertained. I was here for another THREE hours before they started my procedure.
During this time, my parents left to have lunch and I got hooked up to an IV of....nothing. My vitals were checked. My urine tested. My blood sent for counting. I met with the doctor. I met my nurses. I met the orderlies. I stared into space. I eavesdropped on other patients. I whined and complained to anyone who would listen about how hungry and thirsty I was. I sat and I waited. I answered my medical history questions. I played with my iPhone. Dear Lord!
It turns out that I needed platelets. They weren't transfusion low, but they were liver biopsy (aka we don't want you to bleed to death while we stab your vital organs) low. We waited some more. At some point during this wait, my parents came back one at a time. When my dad came back he said "Well, you look no worse for the wear." How shocked was he when I explained that I still hadn't gone anywhere! Ha ha.
The doctor came back...there was an issue. The platelets they had were RH positive and I am RH negative. This was not a big deal if I was 100% sure that I never want to have babies. But, let's face it...I am a woman. I change my mind 2-3 times a day. I could try the biopsy without platelets...risky but doable. I could get the RH positive platelets and possibly have a reaction that would possibly cause me to miscarry an RH negative baby down the road. I could wait for an order of RH negative platelets to arrive from another facility which would be several hours. Umm no.
Who knew getting a liver biopsy had to be so complicated? Anyway...after some thought, I decided to do what was best for me in the moment and let the rest of the cards fall where they may. I got the platelets. Of course...then we had to wait for the platelets to be delivered from across the hall...and you know how quickly things like this happen in a hospital. Sigh. Did I mention that I was anxious and hungry?
Finally, they carted me off to the CT room (they use current CT scans of my liver to make sure they are sticking the needle in the right spot). I start to feel the sedation (meant to put me in a twilight zone). The room is spinning. The doctor preps my side and I jokingly ask if he is done yet. He does not laugh. He tells me to go to sleep and let him do his job. Then the needle goes in. And the tears, panic, and labored breathing come. It reminds me of college days when I would be drinking and clearly inebriated only to snap instantly out of it to deal with some crisis or drama demanding attention and focus. The doctor requests more sedation. It doesn't work. I am immune to it now. I am told afterward that I have an extremely high tolerance to the sedation and that next time I have a procedure, I should be given Valium. Damn. NOW you tell me? Sigh. The doctor stabs my liver 6 or 7 times. He proudly shows me the teeny tiny worm-like pieces he has collected in a vial. I continue crying...stopping only once to say "cool". I cry for like 30 more minutes (I blame this on the sedation...it has happened every time). The nurses laugh and tease because I tell them that the sedation makes me sad. LOL.
I spend another hour and a half in recovery, eating saltines and drinking ginger ale. My husband comes and the 4 of us sit and stare at one another. My diaphragm keeps cramping and spasming painfully. It sucks as much as the last time except I am not nauseous. Yay!
I am still recovering today, though I think it is starting to ease. Days like this...full of pain and frustration make it difficult to stay positive, but I know that I will come out of it and back into the sunshine of hope.
Anyway...thanks for listening and thanks for letting me share the trauma of the 2nd stabbing of my liver. Only better days ahead, I know! Hopefully, this will all be worth it. If not...like my dad always likes to say "It builds character". That being said...my parents are the real heroes here...they built a lot of character yesterday sitting and waiting and waiting and sitting. At least I had some drugs and excitement to break up my day! Thanks Mom and Dad!!
Love, Vashni
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