I've got four irrational fears. Heights, Sharks, the Dentist and Needles. Luckily, I've never had to confront all four fears at the same time. It would make a great ending to a bad action movie, something along the lines Nic Cage typically stars in, only it would be me and it would be awesome. I'd be getting a root canal done, on a cliff, while Great Whites circle below and I fight furiously to save the planet - National Treasure: Teeth of Wisdom in theatres February 2013!
I've managed to climb a ladder or two over the years. I've been known to attempt an hour or so of surfing at times even though it always ends with me paddling back in furiously, convinced that a shark just brushed across my leg. Until these last couple of months rolled around I'd managed to avoid needles and the dentist for most of my adult life. I've already filled you in on my trip to the dentist but it occurred to me that I've yet to tell you about my experience with the Scariest Needle in the History of Needles! So here you go.
In the first couple weeks following my biopsy and diagnosis I had to get a number of tests done. Some, like the echo-cardiogram and the pulmonary function test, were to determine if I was healthy enough to undergo the chemo therapy. I passed those tests with flying colors. As it turns out, with the minor exception of Hodgkin's, I'm super healthy! My heart is powerful, my lungs are huge and strong, my face if pretty. They didn't have to test my face - that one was obvious. Then we came to the Bone Marrow Biopsy and my fear of needles. If you've ever wondered what an ordinary straw would feel like if it were made out of metal, sharpened to a razor point and shoved into your lower back than a Bone Marrow Biopsy is for you.
My doctor, Hans Gruber, warned me not to look at the needle. I couldn't help myself. I looked. A more appropriate description would be that I craned my neck around while lying face down on a bed with pants pulled slightly down my ass. If I'd ever wondered how poor Andy Dufresne felt when Bogs and The Sisters finally caught him I had my answer. This thing was fuckin huge and it was going somewhere I really didn't want.
Incredibly, the insertion of the monster needle was not the most painful part of this post-traumatic stress disorder inducing experience. No, the most painful part of the process was the extraction. Not only do they have to stick this monster into your pelvis and pull out a chunk of bone (I'm nearly certain they used a hammer for that part but by then I had my head buried in the pillows and was sobbing silently) they also have to suck bone marrow out of you. The title of the procedure sort of gives that away but that doesn't mean you're any more ready for it when it happens.
When it happens you lose the ability to breath. It feels like the air in your body, as well as a host of other things, is being sucked out of you. I don't know if I made a sound when Hans Gruber pulled back the plunger. I don't know if I could. It only lasted a few of seconds perhaps not even that long but in those moments when he pulled the bone marrow out of me the term "a soul sucking" experience took on a whole new meaning.
Needless to say, I am no longer afraid of a little needle. One of the things that's kept me from getting a tattoo during my twenties (besides just good old common sense) was the idea of a needle driving in and out of me over and over. At this point needles are old hat. I've given blood so many times over the last few months that I am proud to say I can cross needles off my list of irrational fears.
Giant fucking needles have taken their place.
I've managed to climb a ladder or two over the years. I've been known to attempt an hour or so of surfing at times even though it always ends with me paddling back in furiously, convinced that a shark just brushed across my leg. Until these last couple of months rolled around I'd managed to avoid needles and the dentist for most of my adult life. I've already filled you in on my trip to the dentist but it occurred to me that I've yet to tell you about my experience with the Scariest Needle in the History of Needles! So here you go.
In the first couple weeks following my biopsy and diagnosis I had to get a number of tests done. Some, like the echo-cardiogram and the pulmonary function test, were to determine if I was healthy enough to undergo the chemo therapy. I passed those tests with flying colors. As it turns out, with the minor exception of Hodgkin's, I'm super healthy! My heart is powerful, my lungs are huge and strong, my face if pretty. They didn't have to test my face - that one was obvious. Then we came to the Bone Marrow Biopsy and my fear of needles. If you've ever wondered what an ordinary straw would feel like if it were made out of metal, sharpened to a razor point and shoved into your lower back than a Bone Marrow Biopsy is for you.
My doctor, Hans Gruber, warned me not to look at the needle. I couldn't help myself. I looked. A more appropriate description would be that I craned my neck around while lying face down on a bed with pants pulled slightly down my ass. If I'd ever wondered how poor Andy Dufresne felt when Bogs and The Sisters finally caught him I had my answer. This thing was fuckin huge and it was going somewhere I really didn't want.
Incredibly, the insertion of the monster needle was not the most painful part of this post-traumatic stress disorder inducing experience. No, the most painful part of the process was the extraction. Not only do they have to stick this monster into your pelvis and pull out a chunk of bone (I'm nearly certain they used a hammer for that part but by then I had my head buried in the pillows and was sobbing silently) they also have to suck bone marrow out of you. The title of the procedure sort of gives that away but that doesn't mean you're any more ready for it when it happens.
When it happens you lose the ability to breath. It feels like the air in your body, as well as a host of other things, is being sucked out of you. I don't know if I made a sound when Hans Gruber pulled back the plunger. I don't know if I could. It only lasted a few of seconds perhaps not even that long but in those moments when he pulled the bone marrow out of me the term "a soul sucking" experience took on a whole new meaning.
Needless to say, I am no longer afraid of a little needle. One of the things that's kept me from getting a tattoo during my twenties (besides just good old common sense) was the idea of a needle driving in and out of me over and over. At this point needles are old hat. I've given blood so many times over the last few months that I am proud to say I can cross needles off my list of irrational fears.
Giant fucking needles have taken their place.
One of the only times I almost passed out during nursing school was watching a bone marrow biopsy. I turned to the student next to me and said "if I hear it crunch I'm going down"... the only advice I have is: request some damn versed...or a whole hell of a lot of valium!
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