Pelvic Node Biopsy

When I was having cancer treatment, life was a blur. Looking back now I realise that I had completely disassociated from my reality. It was like watching six months of my life roll by on a screen. Sure, I had my meltdowns but, overall, I was calm. Going in for major surgeries, I said goodbye to Chris like I was off to grab some bread and milk.

So, the night before my biopsy when I sat on our couch downstairs and told Chris I was scared that there'd be a rare complication and I'd bleed out and never cuddle him and Nuptse on the couch again, he didn't expect it. And I didn't expect his response to be that he had had that thought many times throughout my treatment. I'd gone into surgeries like I was off to the shops and, while I didn't know it at the time, Chris was wondering if he'd see me again. Good god I've put this boy through some shit.

The next morning we sat together in the waiting room of the hospital and a sick, empty feeling hit my gut. I realised it was the sound of the doors opening and closing. Too many hours in the hospital had left me with this weird involuntary reaction. The doors are heavy and when they open and close, the latch clicks loudly and almost vacuums the noise from beyond it. And boy oh boy does it make me feel sick. I told Chris and he asked, perplexed, whether the beeping of all the machines gave me the same response. Nope...just the doors.

A nurse called my name, I waved Chris off and was led to a room with a second nurse waiting. They walked me through the regular stuff...no, I'm not a diabetic, no I haven't had chemo in the last seven days, yes I did give verbal consent for this biopsy.

I was asked to remove my overalls, which, as I'm typing this, I realise I have worn to a LOT of appointments. The nurse was gentle, triple checking if I was ok with getting down to my undies. If only she knew the number of times I'd sat legs spread with all number of people starring at me. Laying discretely on a table with undies still on was like wearing a neck-to-knee swimsuit in comparison. Plus, you'd never believe it...I had worn real underwear! Not a g-string! I mean sure, by 'real' underwear I mean size 16 granny panties that hung loose around my waist because they're the only thing that doesn't dig in and make me feel like my lymphedema is getting worse. But hey...it was progress.

I was nervous but held it together. Until the doctor walked in.

The tears came like a flood as he walked me through each stage of this procedure.

The doctor told me that the local anaesthetic would feel like an ant bite and would be the worst part. The ant bite went on for some time as they jabbed the needle in, injected some of the anaesthetic, moved the needle slightly, injected some more over and over again. But, when it was finished I figured I'd done pretty well and the worst, according to the doctor, was over. Oh how wrong he was.

I could feel the skin on my upper thigh being pulled back and forth repeatedly. Like someone was pulling it half a centimetre in one direction then letting it bounce back, over and over. I made the mistake of asking the doctor what he was doing. When he hesitated, I knew I shouldn't have asked. He responded with "ah...umm...just making a little nick." Ew.

He inserted the big needle thing and it wasn't too bad. Just some pressure. Which is crazy considering the size of the bloody thing.

Next thing, I cried out. As it went deeper, it hurt and I panicked. It wasn't supposed to hurt. I wanted them to know it hurt! Maybe the anaesthetic wasn't working properly? With a gentle, soft look on her face, the nurse explained...we can't inject the anaesthetic into the lymph nodes themselves. So you'll feel the biopsy. Blood hell...the things they don't tell you when you sign up. It felt like the needle was pushing onto bone then finally there was a loud click as the needle jolted slightly and a core biopsy was taken of my lymph node and the needle was removed. I felt my whole body relax..."is it over?" I asked. It was very much not over.

Apparently this wasn't a biopsy, singular, it was biopsIES. Plural. I had two lymph nodes sitting huddled together in my groin like two peas. They needed samples from both. They put the ultrasound machine back on my groin. It was covered with a plastic bag which I thought was very sanitary. I soon discovered the true purpose of the plastic bag though when I looked down and the head of the ultrasound wand was covered in my blood. Second ew. This was about when my blood pressure started plummeting, the colour leached from my face and the nurse started waving a clipboard over me in an attempt to cool me down.

After another loud click signalling another painful sample being taken I relaxed again only to be told they needed one more. I braced myself, listened for that loud click, felt the jolt and then finally relaxed. It was over. Except it wasn't..."We haven't got a good enough sample...can we do just one more?" the doctor asked. I felt like screaming "No!" but instead just sobbed out the words "I don't want to do it again" as he took a final biopsy.

I lay breathing loudly as the doctor hung awkwardly in the background watching as the colour drained further from my face. "You can go," the nurse told him and I saw the relief wash over him as he scuttled from the room. They took my blood pressure, lowered the bed so my head hung lower than my body and gave me a vomit bag to breathe in and out of. The nurse held my legs up and slowly but surely my colour began to return. I told the story of throwing up into Doctor Walker's bin during a similar episode when this cancer thing was just beginning. The second nurse wheeled her chair over to me. "Wow, now that I'm close, you really do look like shit." We laughed, the tension was broken and this whole debacle was finally coming to an end.

I sat up and they helped me put my overalls on before I got dizzy again. I apologised for holding up the queue of patients I imagined were waiting to come in after me and burst out crying again. I don't know if it was relief or fear of the results. I really couldn't stand to think about what a positive result might mean. The nurse who had waved the clipboard pulled me in close and cuddled me as I cried. Honestly, these nurses are like little angels.

"Will Chris be waiting outside to walk you out?" they asked.

"He's gone to Bunnings," I said, "but I'm sure he won't be long."

All I could think was how grateful I was that Chris hadn't been there to witness the procedure. Nobody needs to see an ultrasound wand covered in blood, or hear their girlfriend cry like a toddler as they protest what everyone in the room knows is necessary.

I cried in line waiting to give my little slip of paper to reception then cried as I waddled slowly up the stairs, every step making me feel like the cut would start bleeding again. I had flashbacks to after I had my lymph nodes removed and was hunched over, unable to walk properly for days.

Chris arrived just as I stepped out of the hospital's front doors and I burst into tears as I hopped into the front seat. It was done.

And now, we wait.