I Know What That Black Spot Is

This time I didn’t ask what the black spot is. I knew. Like last time the techs and the doctors were blunt with the results of tests and x-rays. The surgeon said something to the effect of, “The good news is you get to live. The bad news is you have to do it without a new knee.” He says he doesn’t like the odds of me pulling through the surgery. Then he muttered something about not being comfortable with me dying on his watch. Evidently my heart just isn’t strong enough for the surgery and the Lupus is too out of control to risk the odds of infection. He said with the way my blood work came back the chances of me pulling through without infection are too high and he’s not comfortable with doing the surgery. He said if and when the odds become worth the risk then he’d consider the surgery but for now, it’s a no go. I knew that was a possibility. I knew from the way my skin looks and the way I’ve been so tired that my health wasn’t good. But it wasn’t great to hear the word “dead” so many times in such a short period of time. So, as he said, the good news is that I get to live. The bad news is for the sake of beating the odds I’ll need to forgo the surgery. That means I need to call my company and stop the T-shirt production announcing my new knee. My two T-shirts were to say, “Been there, Bent that” and, “I climbed Mount Everest.” ← which really means I cleared all three steps up to my front door without the need for morphine.

Anyway, I guess the odds of dying on the table from knee surgery are something like 1 in 1 million. I was fine with that. I was ready to face those odds. With Lupus alone the odds are 1 in 10 thousand. If you factor in my heart the numbers get even worse. He said I was lucky to survive one pulmonary embolism. To try and survive another was pushing the envelope a bit. I have two surgeries under my belt as it is one for a heart filter and the other part of my colon was removed. He said taking past and current health issues into consideration makes the risk of another surgery not worth it. So now the plan is to slow down bone deterioration without surgery.

Of course I heard about how losing weight will help ease the pain. I didn’t tell him he’s twice my size and perhaps he’d like to join Jenny Craig too. I left that part out. Then he shocked the crap out of me and asked if I had been a cheerleader in high school. Did you just call me a cheerleader?!!!! Why you no good full back wanna be! I was offended but didn’t show it. I said, “No, why?” He said the amount of damage to my knees was common with cheerleaders. Still shocked I said, “Umm….no, I uh,…I don’t have that in my past.” He just kept looking at me then he said the amount of damage wasn’t something he’d seen in someone so young, even with Lupus. He said the damage was so extensive that it had to be from cheerleading. I think I’d remember if I ever jumped in a short skirt while cheering on a sport I hate. Dissociation or no I think I’d remember the 2-4-6-8 cheers. I did have the valley girl phase but that was as far gone as I went. I never crossed the line into cheerleading. I did have a Mohawk in high school but that’s still a far cry from cheerleading….(no good so-in-so…won’t do the surgery AND accused me of cheerleading. That was the last straw.)

Okay so, I see my doc on Monday to figure out the next step. I’ll have to tell her about the experience I had on the x-ray table before the cheerleading insults started flying. I really think sometimes techs forget that not everyone lives a technical life. Perhaps they should tell the patient EVERYTHING they’re going to do before they do it. Yeah, the woman did tell me she was going to measure between my legs but she failed to mention she would have me spread them, take a cold piece of medal, put it right up against me then leave it there for what felt like an eternity. Of course that didn’t go over well. They took shot after shot of my hips with that thing down there. My pants were half way down. I’m laying there looking up. I felt myself panic so I told the lady, “This is the last picture.” She said, “We’re getting close. I think this might be the last.” I said, “No, that wasn’t a question. It was a statement. This is the last picture.” By that time Captain got up from the other room where he was and came to sit beside me. I was so happy I took him with me. I started to leave him home. When I pulled my clothes up I was half a breath away from full panic attack. So I took my tearful self out of there, got some fresh air and came back in to tell them that clear information about what they’re going to do can help lessen the shock for some clients. They apologized up and down. My point wasn’t for an apology; it was to let them know sometimes the most “simple procedure” can toss a person in a flashback. It’s helpful to know beforehand that “metal to the groin area” is on the agenda.

I survived the “metal to the groin area” thing and I got over the cheerleader insult. I still felt cheated though ‘cause I forgot to snatch the pillow. They laid me on that fake pillow again. It’s just plastic wrapped in tape. It looks like someone bought a new mattress and brought in the plastic for the radiology department to use as a pillow. Perhaps they didn’t believe me when I said, “This is sooooo going on my blog.” Perhaps they thought no one is so bold as to out their pillow practices. Oh how wrong they were. I’ll get that fake pillow next time.

2-4-6-8 Who do we NOT appreciate? Radiologists! Radiologists!

J of A (not a cheerleader)
I Know What That Black Spot Is
Wednesday, May 30, 2007-9:37PM EST