The Break That Wasn’t (Maybe)

Sitting here on my comfy couch on Sunday morning, 9 a.m., coffee cup not quite within arm’s reach (I need to rearrange the furniture), rubbing my aching arm and thinking about pain.

This is my upper right arm, where the bone was broken by a 5-centimeter tumor at the time my cancer metastasized back in 2001. That’s how we first discovered the metastasis—I was walking around with a broken arm.

Ever since, my arm has ached, mildly, a good part of the time. More in the winter when it’s cold and damp. I joke about rheumatism: Imagining myself as an elderly farmer in overalls sitting in a rocker on the porch, spitting chewing tobacco and complaining about my rheumatism when it’s going to rain.

Last weekend, I helped my friend Monica pull weeds and tidy up her front garden, and since then it has REALLY hurt. I talked to my doctor about it on Wednesday, and we agreed that if the pain got worse, I would call him and we would move up all the scans I have scheduled for early July.

So now it’s hurting more than ever, and I think I have to call him on Monday and get this checked out. Argh. (Don’t want to. Would like to think it’s all in my head. But I know better.)

I have a lot of questions: How could cancer come back in an area that has been treated with radiation? I check the little tattoos on my arm that mark the field, and realize that a tumor could be outside the area that was treated, closer to my shoulder.

I’m trying to decide how much it really hurts. And the answer seems to be that it hurts as much as it did the time it broke. But of course, people don’t remember pain very well.

And I’m very aware that by focusing on it, I can make it seem to hurt more, so I’m trying to distract myself.

But it hurts. [Expletive deleted here.]

And I REALLY wanted that break from treatment, which it looks like I may not get. I REALLY REALLY wanted it.

Onward and upward. I’m going to go out and patrol my garden. Pick a few strawberries, stomp a few snails.

@ Jeanne Sather 2007.

Comments

[Teri]

I will join you in hoping that this pain does not signify the end to your break in treatment - and that the doc can tell you right away what it is and isn't. I hope your snail-stomping was effective! And eat some of those sweet, juicy strawberries for me.

[Sara]

Pout. Not fair.

I hope the pain resolves magically or that the scans are clear, whichever comes first.

One Saturday morning a few weeks ago, before I had managed to imbibe any life-sustaining coffee, I launched myself off the living room sofa and onto my wheelchair, only I hadn't locked my chair on both sides and kind of bumped into it a little on the way down, which caused it to describe an arc away from where I expected it to be, so that I landed, all 200 lbs of me, flat smack on my tailbone on the hardwood floor, the very hard wood floor. This hurt so much I had to walk with a cane for a whole day because the part where I landed kept getting mashed about by the socket on my fake leg every time I took a step.

The next day, it felt better, so I got on my tricycle to run errands, but the seat was too low, so as I pedaled, the big basket under my butt sort of kept trying to shove itself up my butt, which only exacerbated the pain I was just getting over and interfered with the possibility of cleanly healing from whatever I'd done to myself at the -ahem- tail end of my Saturday morning flying excursion.

All of this has resulted in me feeling very sore around the assular region every time it has rained here since approximately mid-May. When I complain about it, I tell my true love that "my old war wound is acting up."

(I'm constantly at war with gravity.)

I hope your pain is nothing more than your own old war wound acting up, and that your cease-fire can continue.

[Stewart]

You said argh, I'd say aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!! I'm beginning to understand the suspensefulness of living with cancer as a chronic illness. (There's a word I haven't seen you use much: suspense.) I'm beginning to understand it because I'm beginning to FEEL it.

I'll keep my fingers crossed.

[Jeanne]

Good point: there is a lot of suspense. I tend to call it "waiting for the shoe to drop," but I think that's the same thing. And how many shoes have been dropped on me by now, anyway?

An Imelda-sized load, I'd say.

Jeanne

[Jill]

Well, that sucks. Maybe Dr. E can radiate again (if needed), even if it's an area near the other radiated area. He did this with my femur with great success, twice in practically the same place.

And please call Leah deR at Swedish about that bill. She can help straighten out the billing department.

Jill

[Jeanne]

Jill--thanks for the suggestion about Leah. I will give her a call. Didn't get to sorting out the bills today, but probably will tomorrow. Going in for an MRI of just my right arm tomorrow morning. And thanks for letting me know that about radiation...Hoping it's not needed, but it's hurting quite a bit, no question.

Jeanne

[Jeanne]

Monday evening update: I REALLY did not want to call my doctor today. I was trying very hard to pretend that the pain was better, or that it was all in my head, or whatever ... but finally this afternoon I got on the phone and called, and he called me back within less than half an hour (a new personal best for ANY doctor of mine).

We agreed that I should get the MRI of just my right upper arm tomorrow morning, and then I will see my doctor on Wednesday to get results.

So the good news is: I don't have to wait more than 48 hours to get the news, good or bad. The bad news is: this arm really does hurt, in the bone. So what else could it be but my old friend?

Further update on Wednesday, I promise.

Jeanne

[Sara]

Glad you won't have to wait long. Whatever it turns out to be, here's wishing you a completely boring diagnosis.

[Jeanne]

Hey, Sara, thanks. Boring would be GOOD. Boring would be EXCELLENT.

Right now I'm feeling very proud of myself that I got through the MRI this morning. I have twice had meltdowns when confronted with traditional MRI machines (claustrophobia), complete with panic and tears and the whole embarrassing scene.

Since then I've only had MRIs in open sided machines, but my new doctor uses a place that doesn't have an open-sided MRI. However, the tube is wider and also shorter, and I was able to manage it. Also kept my eyes closed, which is important in claustrophobia, since it is a VISUAL response.

Now, I'm debating calling my oncologist at the end of the day, because he will have the results by 5, according to the tech. I have an appt with Dr. Lee early tomorrow afternoon to get the results, but I don't think I want to wait that long.

So I think I'll call at about 4 ... we'll see if that pisses him off or if he understands how hard it is to wait.

[Jeanne]

Hey, Sara, thanks. Boring would be GOOD. Boring would be EXCELLENT.

Right now I'm feeling very proud of myself that I got through the MRI this morning. I have twice had meltdowns when confronted with traditional MRI machines (claustrophobia), complete with panic and tears and the whole embarrassing scene.

Since then I've only had MRIs in open sided machines, but my new doctor uses a place that doesn't have an open-sided MRI. However, the tube is wider and also shorter, and I was able to manage it. Also kept my eyes closed, which is important in claustrophobia, since it is a VISUAL response.

Now, I'm debating calling my oncologist at the end of the day, because he will have the results by 5, according to the tech. I have an appt with Dr. Lee early tomorrow afternoon to get the results, but I don't think I want to wait that long.

So I think I'll call at about 4 ... we'll see if that pisses him off or if he understands how hard it is to wait.

[Jeanne]

Hey, Sara, thanks. Boring would be GOOD. Boring would be EXCELLENT.

Right now I'm feeling very proud of myself that I got through the MRI this morning. I have twice had meltdowns when confronted with traditional MRI machines (claustrophobia), complete with panic and tears and the whole embarrassing scene.

Since then I've only had MRIs in open sided machines, but my new doctor uses a place that doesn't have an open-sided MRI. However, the tube is wider and also shorter, and I was able to manage it. Also kept my eyes closed, which is important in claustrophobia, since it is a VISUAL response.

Now, I'm debating calling my oncologist at the end of the day, because he will have the results by 5, according to the tech. I have an appt with Dr. Lee early tomorrow afternoon to get the results, but I don't think I want to wait that long.

So I think I'll call at about 4 ... we'll see if that pisses him off or if he understands how hard it is to wait.

[Jill]

I ALWAYS take lorazepam before an MRI, wear an eye shade, and bring favorite music to listen to. I'd rather ask for a ride home because of taking medication than suffer through the panic of being in the MRI coffin-like box.

[Jeanne]

This MRi was a newer model--both wider and shorter--and it was OK. In the past I've had to have open-sided MRIs because I couldn't tolerate the tight space, but this one was fine.

Jeanne