Seidman Cancer Center, continued

Tuesday, July 9, 2019, 1:10 p.m.

Tomorrow morning I’m scheduled for yet another visit to Seidman Cancer Center—yet another bone scan. At 9:30—after some blood tests—they will inject me with some radioactive Spider-Man-y stuff that, once it courses through my system, will illuminate my skeleton for the scanning machine. And then we’ll find if the cancer has once again reawakened in my bones. (We wait a couple of hours between the injection and the scan.)

When prostate cancer metastasizes (as mine has), one of its favorite venues is the skeleton. I’ve had activity in my ribcage (medication weakened it) and in a couple of my vertebrae (radiation treatments last fall slowed the growth).

And now we’ll see if it’s coming back—and, if so, how fast—and where.

I’ve not really had symptoms—or pain. But all of us involved in my fourteen-year journey know that the medication, the radiation, are temporary. Stop-gap. They delay; they do not cure.

So, tomorrow morning, Joyce and I will drive up to Seidman to initiate the process once again. And next week we will meet with my oncologist to see what all of this means—or bodes.


Wednesday, July 10, 2019; 11:15 a.m.

Well, I’ve had a sharp morning—things in my veins, you know? Joyce and I got to Seidman a few minutes before my 9:30 appointment for my blood draw (PSA [Prostate Specific Antigen] and testosterone level). Wielding the weapon was a young woman, a student. They asked if I minded. How could I? A former teacher, I know the best way to learn is by doing. And she did fine. She had a little trouble finding a vein (mine do like to hide, I’ll admit), but she did the most important thing any learner can do: She asked for help. Got it. Found a vein. Drained it (well, sort of).

Then it was up to the third floor (the blood-drain was on the first), where I checked in, where I learned I first was supposed to have checked in at the Radiation department (back to the first floor I went). At Radiation I had to show all the ID and insurance card stuff that I’ve shown them countless times. And, of course, I had to plunk down the plastic: My insurance (Medicare + supplement) still doesn’t cover all of the huge expenses.

My plastic nearly cried out in complaint about the abuse—but didn’t.

Back to the third floor I went, where I got an injection that includes some nuclear material, so now I’m waiting for my Spidey powers to appear.

Right now we’re sitting in the Starbucks at Legacy Village (reading, writing, talking): There’s about a three-hour wait between the blood stuff and the bone scan (I need to let the stuff circulate—become thoroughly radioactive).

So ... about 12:30 we’ll head back to Seidman (about ten minutes away) for the scan, which takes 30-40 minutes. I’ll mumble some memorized poems in my head, and the time will flow more quickly.


Thursday, July 11, 9:30 a.m.

The scan itself is more annoying than anything else: supine, perfectly still, sometimes in uncomfortable positions (my arms stretched out above my head--as if I'm surrendering to a U S. Marshal). I lie on a table, my head in a sort of cushion, my valuables (hah!) in a pile across the room, my feet rubber-banded together, while a machine takes Its Own Sweet Time moving along my body, searching, searching ...

The technician noticed some bruising/cracking (?) of my left ribs, and I had to confess what I wrote about here back in early June: I'd been playing wiffle ball* with my older grandson, and, swinging and missing, I'd fallen heavily to the ground, smacking my head and left side of my body. Ouch.

At last it was over, and Joyce and I zoomed home after about five hours' absence.

Oh, the technician also told me they'd have the results in a couple of days. I'm in no hurry (believe me), so I told him, "Take your time!" He thought that was (mildly) amusing.

And now the worst part--the waiting. I don't yet know the results of my blood tests. I don't know the results of the scan.

I meet with my oncologist next Wednesday to go over everything--and to learn what we (I) must do next. By then, I will know the blood results (on the portal).

But I'll wait until next week to share all the goodies with you.

Meanwhile, I'll repeat what I've written here many times: Politicians, go sit in the Seidman waiting room for a couple of hours and then talk to me about who "needs" and who "doesn't need" health insurance. Maybe go home and look up the words compassion and empathy. And then see if your sullied soul can summon them.

*auto-correct suggested I change "wiffle ball" to "waffle ball"