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Ouch.

Will post more later.

Okay, it's later and I had a bit of a nap. Man o man o man... I hurt.

First, the "something lumbar" was actually a "lumbar puncture spinal fluid extraction". This was not fun. On the plus side, they do this in the X-ray room with this crazy contraption that looked really cool. There's a long table supported at one end with a hydraulic position system and the X-ray emitter is attached to a six-foot tall semicircular articulated positioning system. The upshot is they can stretch you out on the table, position the table at just about any height, tilt you at whatever angle, and use the X-ray emitter to take pictures of anywhere along your body from any angle. There are two monitors to show the progress and a foot pedal to activate the emitter. The doctor steps on the pedal and the machine takes about two X-ray pictures per second and shows him what's going on in real time. That part was pretty cool.

The part that was not cool was the actual puncture part of the day's activities. The X-ray getup was needed so he could accurately place a needle in my spine and poke a hole in it. This allowed some spinal fluid to seep out for collection. The anesthetic stung going in ("like a bee sting" he said. That, sir, is a very well-hung bee) but it did it's job. The part where he actually pierced my spine with the needle... that's hard to describe. There was pressure, but no pain exactly. It was more like I felt an echo of pain. I knew there should be pain, and I could kind of listen to my nerves tell me so... but it wasn't very loud. And it's hard to describe the sensation of your spine telling you that you have a sharp intruder down there. I mean... you never actually feel your spine say anything, you know? Unless you have something really wrong with your current situation, your spine pretty much doesn't say much. Imagine my surprise when nerves I didn't know I had suddenly go "Hello!".

I found out some interesting information. They don't extract the fluid with a syringe, preferring instead to let the body's natural system flow and gravity pull it out. This prevents a pressure differential from giving you a headache. Your spinal fluid circulates, but your body is constantly making more. Enough to replace the fluid some 300+ times per day. And spinal fluid is depressingly clear. I was hoping for glowing green or something. I've been totally lied to by Hollywood.

I went directly from the spinal vampires to the bone collectors. The spine people were running late, so I literally left the hospital, got in the car and drove to the oncologist where they were doing the bone marrow sample. I would love to say that I had the attitude of "Bah! I've been through one procedure that wasn't so bad. I can handle this!" but in reality... it's like the 2nd jump of skydiving. The first time, you don't know what's happening. The second time, you know what to expect. You know how bad it's going to be.

All in all, it wasn't really too bad. They stretch you out face down on a table, sterilize a spot just above your ass, and numb you up. No sweat. Until the drilling begins... I could literally feel the med tech (nice lady, by the way. Smile of sunshine, heart of gold, hands of ice) turning the drill to get a hole bored in my hip bone. And every good turn of the wrench made my bones feel like they were flexing (hell, they probably were). Being young & healthy (compared to her regular patients - septuagenarians with osteoporosis) made it worse, actually. It took a lot of effort to get this tiny little chunk of bone out of the way. I'm told that 1) I bleed quite nicely when they make the puncture, 2) I have a thick skull (so you guys were right!) and 3) I clot quickly. Valuable survival traits, IMHO. Okay, the drilling part wasn't fun, but I guess I can handle this. And then came the sampling.

Imagine, if you will, your entire skeleton being sucked out through a hole in your ass. I swear to god, I think my arms shrunk by a couple of inches. That's what it felt like. I could feel the core of my bones move. It was over quickly, but ohmigod that was not fun. I consider it a victory that all I did was grunt instead of scream. Anyhow, I got a bandage for my ass and was told to lie still for 20 minutes. I did get to look at the bone, blood & marrow. It was kind of cool, actually. I wish I had gotten a picture. The marrow itself was kind of a pink coloration to the liquid. The bone fragment was about a centimeter long and looked like a... well, a small bone cylinder. Attached to it was this long red booger. I'm told that this was the blood that came out with the bone fragment and it clotted as soon as they put it in the liquid. Pretty cool. They gave me a couple Tylenol & the oncologist stopped by to check on things and I was on my way.

The rest of the day I spent walking really really slowly and with a slight limp. I'm not sure why the limp, but it seems to make my ass feel better. My parents took me & SWMBO out to lunch (Mexican food. If my ass is going to suffer, might as well go all the way ) and then I drove home with the wife. On the plus side, today got me out of hanging pictures in the kitchen and mowing the lawn. On the minus side, I feel like I was joining a frat and someone used the edge of the paddle on my tailbone.

Tomorrow is the PET scan. Wish me luck!

That sounds like a not so enjoyable experience, but i must say that's a nice job on including all the gut wrenching details. I honest feel like i just watched Hostel all over again.

For some reason, anything about bones and bone marrow gives me the heebie-jeebies. That was hard enough to read; I can't imagine what it's like to actually go through it. I'd wanna be knocked the **** out. *salutes Darkmage*

I guess I'm a lesser man--I'd have wanted to be knocked totally out for that last test.
That sounds hellacious, I hope the results at least are good.

One thing about all this that's readily apparent to me is: You have the type of attitude one needs to have in this situation.
I honestly have trouble seeing myself in your shoes, staying positive and humourous as you seem to be in such a scary situation.
Keep it up man and good luck.

that sounds........awfully creepy. Ick.

I'm not much of a praying type, so I'll just go with continued well wishes.

Well, having been through the bone marrow extraction, I want to be knocked out next time. But they didn't give me the option. Actually, if they did, they probably would have had to do it in the hospital proper, with all the attendant rigmarole, check-in, IV drip, embarrassing gown, etc. I already went through all that to get the original biopsy that told me what was going on. This way was unpleasant, but simple.

I'm still a little sore from the bone marrow extraction today. If I concentrate, I can walk normally. I'm a little slow when sitting down. In a week or so, I'll probably wonder what the big deal was. The worst part today was removing the bandage over the bone marrow extraction site. They used some huge 6" x 4" bandage over gauze and stuck the damn thing to my lower back & buttocks. Now, I'm a hairy guy. A really hairy guy. I pulled that sucker off nice & quick and it decided to hang on to a couple hundred butt hairs when it came off.

Incidentally, this is one reason why I'll never be homosexual. I just can't look at a man's hairy ass and go "mmmmm... that's attractive!"

So anyway, I have this pretty bare patch of skin surrounding a 1/4" scab on my lower back. That actually was the worst thing that happened to me today. The PET scan was a piece of cake.

That's one of the best things I've read on here in a while, Darkmage. Thanks for the laugh.

Of course, I'm thinking and praying for ya. Keep the great attitude and keep us posted with the technical and personal details as much as you're able.

Wow... thanks for the update. I never would've thought that a description of some rather nasty medical procedures could make me smile, but yours did.

I'm sure you'll beat this thing, and we'll be debating in the R&P forum for years to come!

So the PET scan was today. PET scans (Particle Emission Tomography) are kind of like MRI scans in that they are boring. This was marginally better than the MRI, but to the patient they're both pretty much the same deal. Except the PET scan comes with a six-hour period of no food or drink beforehand and 24 hours of no strenuous activity (working out, hauling logs, hunting hobos, etc.). Oh, and the injection of radioactive liquid into your bloodstream. But other than those tiny differences, they're practically identical.

Like any and all doctor's visits, you show up at the front desk, announce that you are the victim scheduled for some point in the near future and they hand you a clip board with forms to fill out. If you've been there before, there are probably only two forms that ask you to reaffirm that 1) yes, you are who they think you are and 2) you agree to their privacy policy that keeps them from sharing your information with anyone on the entire planet except for other doctors, administrative staff, statisticians, IRS agents, medical interns, teaching hospitals, the PR staff, the web guy and the guy who cleans up after you when you decide you need to Talk to Ralph on the Big White Phone^tm. If this is your first time there, there are a couple more forms that look exactly like the forms you filled out elsewhere in that building the day before, but they can't go down the hall and ask them for a copy because that would violate the privacy policy.

Anyhow, once I checked in and got the call from the med tech, I was told to pee. Then comes the IV & shot. This has got to have been the fastest I have ever been injected with something. This girl was incredible. She got the butterfly needle inserted, the syringe hooked up, the saline flowing, left the room, grabbed the radioactive stuff, came back, hooked it up, opened a valve, pulled a plunger, closed a valve, pushed a plunger, opened another valve, completed the injection and withdrew the needle in about 90 seconds. She did this whole routine, her hands moving about as fast as you tie your shoes. It was wicked to watch.

Interestingly, the radioactive stuff comes in a syringe stored in a lead-lined tube about the thickness of a water bottle (but only about half as tall). Again with the lack of green glowing liquid!

Okay, after watching the Indy 500 of injections zip by at 200 mph, I'm all impressed and figured we were going to run right out and scan me before the half-life expired. Nope. Now I have to wait 45 minutes while it circulates. And what's worse, I can't do anything to pass the time. Any movement causes the stuff to collect in the muscles you move. That includes reading. So, I nap.

Speedy wakes me up 45 minutes later and we go into the PET scan room. This thing looks like an MRI, but only slightly more interesting. The motorized table is there, as is the beige plastic cylinder with the uncomfortably tight space into which they're going to cram you. On the plus side, there is a display with some green numbers that are whirring around counting... something. Some lights, so readouts, some buttons... There is a laser alignment system that puts a grid over your face to help align the scanners (there are two built into the machine - a CT scan and the PET scan. They actually do both and overlay them on top of each other). By this time I'm imagining the lasers over my face, the rapidly counting green numbers and I'm expecting to turn into a superpowered monster when I get angry at the end of the day. Was not meant to be, alas.

Unlike the MRI, you don't need earplugs and the temperature was a bit higher and therefore more pleasant. Speedy put on some music (can't tell you what it was - it sounded like something you'd hear in Starbucks) Once they slide me in, I can look through a grate and see something spinning around me. I guess it was doing a fully revolution about every second and a half.

So I slide further down the tube, and I see this little black opening with an upside-down sticker on it. Well, I'm not going anywhere for a few minutes, so I decipher the sticker. There's an "m", an "a", "e", "b", "o", "t", "n" and an "i". I look at the black hole for a second and slowly realize I should start at the other end of the sticker. (Remember, I'm still waking up at this point). The sticker helpfully reads:"Laser aperture - Do not look into beam". Gee, thanks.

Anyhow, you lie on the table and you don't move. Five minutes later, they move you further into the machine by about a foot. Repeat for your approximate length. Then they tell you to really really not move this time, because they're going to do it again. So you do. Listening to forgettable music and staring at laser beams.

At the end, they say "thank you, that's all" and let you put your clothes back on. The good news is that I requested a copy of the images. They'll burn them to CD and mail 'em to me. Once I get them, I'll try to post some of the pictures here.

And that concludes the scheduled tests so far. Tuesday is the follow-up visit with the oncologist where we find out if what I have is a local phenomenon or something widespread. I saw the results summary from the MRI yesterday and it was encouraging. It confirmed a few things you guys already knew: 1) the lymphoma is definitely there, 2) it is mostly behind my right eye and is doing a good iceberg impression, 3) it does not appear to be anywhere else in my head... yet., 4) I have a thick skull, 5) my brain is huge and is obviously working better than anyone else's on TR. You should all believe everything I say on the forums without question.

Yes master, I believe.

Very encouraging news, and I love the way you write - I almost feel radioactive myself!

Here's an interesting sidebar article on Ted Merkle who headed the Pluto Project, a nuclear powered cruise missile designed in the early 60's. He also came down with cancer. His response was to invent an early form of CAT scan. Interesting read.
http://www.merkle.com/pluto/side.html

The main article is here
http://www.merkle.com/pluto/pluto.html

Well, the only news so far today is that the CD with the images from the PET scan arrived. They're pretty cool, but frankly I don't know what I'm looking at. Some parts are obvious (head, shoulders knees and toes) but most of it is kind of a squiggly mass surrounded by other squiggly masses. I don't know what I'm looking at or looking for. Looking around the place they tell me houses the lymphoma, I don't see anything... but I also definitely see a nothing that is not on the other side of the head. Is that nothing supposed to be there? Is my other nothing plugged by the lymphoma? Did the lymphoma eat that nothing out of my skull?

Inquiring minds want to know. So I'll be taking the CD with me to the oncologist's office tomorrow and I'll ask him. And once I know what I'm looking at, for and past, I'll post a few here.

Well, today was the results from my various poking and prodding appointments last week. First the good news:

Everything came back negative!

This means that the little rat bastard lymphoma in my eye socket is the only one I have. This is apparently surprising, as the oncologist claims that in over half of the cases of this type of lymphoma, it has spread to more than one location. My treatment is going to be a series of radiation therapy (don't know how many or how long), which has an approximate success rate of 70%. If that fails, we switch to chemotherapy which comes in at a cool 90% cure rate for this type of lymphoma.

So, in shot: They zap my head a few times and it should clear right up. No digging it out with a scalpel, no chemotherapy with accompanying side effects, and no trip to God's Litterbox for me.

Okay, enough of the boring crap. Pictures! Last Thursday was the PET scan, and these are some of the images that were on the disk. For all of you out there who wanted to know what I really look like:

Do you think I'm sexy? If I hold my arms like this, does my chest look bigger? (I cropped it a bit at the bottom. We don't need evidence that I'm hung like a gerbil.) I tell ya, the guys & gals at the TR forums... I can't lie to them about anything. They see right through me!

Interestingly, there seems to be no damage to my spine from my little lumbar violation on Wednesday. Make note that I do have some backbone (just don't tell my wife).

The PET Scan images are from kind of a weird perspective. The following images are end-on of my body, with the right side of my body on the left side of the image. Imagine, if you will, sticking your head at my feet and looking up at my skull with x-ray vision.

First, because I know some of you had doubts, I do in fact have a brain:

I also have thick skull. That would explain much about my posting style.

And despite the rumors you may have heard, conservatives actually do have a heart.

Wow. Sweet. All I need now is some courage and some sparkly shoes and I'll start looking for singing midgets.

And the prize photo of the show, the part of my body that has caused so much fuss:

Now, frankly I don't have any medical training, so I don't know what is and is not normal. But it is hella cool! Looking at my eye sockets and the optic nerve... I'm not sure I can see the lymphoma. It is supposedly at the corner of my right eye, up against my nose and is extended into my sinus. Is that black area near my eye my sinus? Is is supposed to be irregular like that? Is the other one how it's supposed to look? I have no idea. But it's a cool image.

So anyway, I've sent out the reassuring email, called the expatriate relative and updated my electronic comrades. I'm going to go chug a margarita and call it a night.

Congrats on the good news! I'll be in town August 23rd - 25th for a wedding. We should consume many more margaritas in celebration then.

Dude, that's fantastic news!

And the pictures are amazing. Modern medical technology blows my mind.

Wow...anybody ever tell you what a lucky bastage you are Of course you already knew that!! Great news indeed.Guess that validates the theory that "Only the good go before their time". The Mrs and You should go celebrate(if you can read this thru your hangover).

Excellent news man! Good luck with that there head-zapper machine!

Looking forward to that story next

Holy crap I can see thru you!! Congrats on the good news man...

Wow, don't know for some reason i missed this thread... But i am glad that you are alright ... Take care

Thank you all for the well wishes, prayers and goat sacrifices. It's been a joy coming back to this thread and seeing the responses.

Now we get back into wait-mode. I'm spending a couple hours each evening doing research on radiation therapy and lymphomas in general. A coworker told me I should take a look at Proton Therapy which sounds like its right up my alley. Besides, the equipment looks cooler. Another coworker told me to go up to NIH and volunteer for something experimental. I'm fairly sure somebody is going to recommend that I tie a crystal around my neck and only eat grapefruit for a week.

We'll see how it goes.

Darkmage wrote:

I'm fairly sure somebody is going to recommend that I tie a crystal around my neck and only eat grapefruit for a week.

Don't forget the pyramid hat and the apricot pits (Laetrile). You'll also likely get suggestions for weird macrobiotic diets and regular colon cleansings along with TM, aura therapy, and many other odd New Age pseudo-remedies.

Seriously though, it's good to see the non-extent of your lymphoma. Keep up the irreverent attitude and desire to disassemble every machine they put you in and you'll have this beat in no time. Just hope that they don't add the "putting the machines back together" cost to your insurer's bill.

How would you explain that to the insurance agent? I can just picture them in the adjusters office...
"Sir, this bill list a 10,000 USD reassembly fee for the PET scanner...I think their invoice department is messed up."

We can rebuild him, we have the technology...

Fabulous. That's good to hear, man, dodged a bullet.

.../gerbilxp

Well, I did get my first "eat this" suggestion yesterday at a 4th of July party. Luckily, this was along the lines of "Eat this during your radiation and/or chemotherapy treatments" instead of "eat this instead of your radiation/chemotherapy treatments".

Blueberries. The guy who recommended me to them has been through throat cancer and was on a pretty nasty combination of rad & chem at the same time. I think I'll listen to him.

So I'm confused. Why blueberries?

Blueberries have a ton of antioxidants in them... so that's my guess.

P.S. Good Luck

I remember grandma had an easier time with things like berries and whatnot while on chemo than most other foods, so maybe that's why?