King, Lord, Dr. Whizkid made contact with me via his rather surly assistant who advised me that Dr. WK felt he could safely reach one of the nodules. Biopsy scheduled for Weds, March 12 at Seton Hospital. I arrived at 930am with Derrell as my chaperone, support, guide, advocate, cheerleader and love of my life. After signing away a few hundred dollars as well as the obligatory “consent to cut on ya” forms, I was given the traditional paperthin, “you may or may not wake up again” gown and asked to lose everything else and wear the gown instead.
The RN readied to start the IV and lustily eyed the top of my hand. I advised that I didn’t mind IVs usually as long as they weren’t in the hand or crook of my elbow. She responded that as they’d had me fast, including liquids, my veins weren’t very easy to see, including the one we both agreed we saw running across the top of my meaty forearm. Losing my usual assertive self, I agreed to the top of the right hand. Within 2 very painful minutes, she had blown the insertion leaving a nasty, bloody, painful bruise. She then went for the crook while my usual, assertive self remained in hiding. A rough, clumsy 5 minutes later, she had the IV in, taped on in a way that would make any 2nd grade art teacher proud, I’m sure.
Assertive self was still on a half price cruise somewhere as I sat in the glassed in waiting area and watched Lord WhizKid walk back and forth past my glass cage, never once stopping in to see how I was or if I had any questions, much less smiling, waving nodding or even looking in my direction. I began to wonder if I was indeed really one of his patients. Finally, around 1pm (that’s three and a half hours of what would have been anxiety ridden reclining save for the anesthesiologist who DID act in a professional manner and meet with me shortly after my arrival and dumped a couple of syringe’s worth of benzodiazepines into the business end of the 2nd grade art project IV), I was wheeled to the procedure room and was introduced to everyone but Sir WhizKid who was not present. I was asked to begin counting backward from a long since forgotten number and I was immediately transported into The Land of Safety for Those About to Be Sliced and Diced.
It was after that when things got ugly.