Hello
My name is James D. Gray
You should know that by now but it seems right to introduce myself on every entry. Something about consistency. The following story may have some parts in it that parents might not find suitable for children. It possibly involves descriptions of a graphic and violent nature. It most certainly has me talking about blood and tubes through ribs. Spoilers.
A few days before the exploratory sampling of the spots in my lungs, I was informed that one of the artifacts was large enough to use a much easier procedure. A small needle biopsy was all they needed. I picked up my radioactive drink and headed in where they would have me lie on my belly under a scanner to poke in and grab a sample. They explained the difference in recovery and chance of collapse for both lungs. I wasn't worried about any of that. I was just tired of going back to the doctor for more tests and I wanted an answer.
From what I remember, recovery was short and there wasn't much pain involved from the needle. The sample was sent out for a pathology report. We didn't stop looking for answers quite yet though. There were other doctors and specialist to follow up with, checking my respiratory issues and heart. Finding out that there were no traces of mold or bacteria. The next thing that hit hard was when the pathology came back on the biopsy.
"Too much necrosis" they told me. The sample had too many dead cells to tell what they were or where they came from. At this point theories started to formulate about what was going on. It was possible that I had some kind of metastatic cancer that made it's way to my lungs. I didn't have any other signs of a cancer that could be directly related to this theory but to me it seemed to explain a lot of other health issues that I had been experiencing. My blood sugar would get low, my bones and joints would ache and get hurt often, my heart palpitations were stronger than ever, and even some of my stool problems were back. The idea seemed logical to me but there was no proof yet.
So now the worst part of my whole journey was upon me. This is where I was asked to do something that I wish I had been able to avoid. The procedure was called a "Right Lung Video-assisted Thoracoscopic Surgery" As they explained the operation to me, all I wanted to do was say no and walk out. The idea of this causing so much pain that they highly recommended getting an epidural, seemed unreasonable. From my perspective there was little chance that this would yield any different results from the last, much less involved, biopsy. I had also already stayed in a hospital bed for a few days and didn't like that.
I said yes. Yes to the VATS and yes to the epidural. The night before, I had to clean myself with medical wipes and let my body air dry. My father took me in the morning to get checked in. Here is where I would like to put my biggest warning to those with better things to do than read this. It gets morbidly funny and bloody.
As I was getting prepared for sugary the nurse asked me some questions. "Are you allergic to anything?" I told her about my reaction to an antibiotic, linseed oil, and citric acid. I also told her about my reaction to mint and mint oil essences. "I wouldn't normally think it's that important but I'm already having breathing issues and mint causes me asthmatic symptoms." She hands me a cup of mouthwash a bit later and before I even smell it, I ask if it has mint. She wasn't sure but took it away from me and checked the packaging. It did indeed contain mint, so we passed on that. I was also asked if I would accept blood or blood products. I curiously inquired about the nature of the items "mostly blood products" and upon picturing having some other persons blood put in me, I refused.
"Is it a religious reason?"
"No. I just don't like the idea. It sounds gross."
Did I really have to turn it down just because it sounded gross? Sounds pretty stupid today. So I put on my gown and lied down on the bed to have the IV placed. I don't like needles. I was looking up and counting the dots in the ceiling tiles when I hear "Oh. That blew." and feel blood running down my hand. They push my bed back away from what I could only assume was a pool of my blood they had to clean up. This caused a hematoma in my wrist that still hurts to this day *Update. Started feeling better in another month* What I was thinking about at that time was "How dumb is it going to be if I bleed out in prep because I said no to accepting blood?" The staff was great so there was no real worry.
This ran a little longer than I thought it was going to, so I'll have to end this part here. Next time I'll describe my stay at the hospital and all the things that made me never want to do something like that ever again.
To Be Continued.
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