It was just a year ago today that I got the call from Dr. Monson's office to tell me that the biopsy results had come back and that I had been officially diagnosed with Liposarcoma. It took a few more days, however, before I actually met with the doctor and learned exactly what my treatment plan would entail. (See http://dnovak-liposarcoma.blogspot.com/2008_07_01_archive.html for all of the details.) I would have never imagined that such a thing could happen to me. Little did I know that the (benign) brain tumor I had 8 years prior was not my “big event” but rather just a warm up for the main act that was to follow. Unbelievable!
Certainly a lot has happened during this past year and I'm just happy to be alive, doing well and back to a “normal” lifestyle. Not all Sarcoma patients are as fortunate, so I have nothing to complain about!
Showing posts with label liposarcoma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label liposarcoma. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
My Staples are Out!
OK – they actually were taken out back on Tuesday, but I’ve just been too busy (or lazy) to make an update. Steri-Strips have replaced the staples. In any case, it’s adiós “Zipper Leg”! The best part about having the staples out is that I can now sleep on my left side (something that was just too painful to do with staples).
I mentioned to Dr. Monson the issues I continue to have: 1) the buildup of fluid in my leg, 2) loss of flexibility, and 3) numbness around the surgical site. He responded to #1 by putting a huge syringe in my leg to suck out the fluid (yes that hurt . . . a lot). For #2, he has prescribed physical therapy (3x a week for 4 weeks). PT starts next Wednesday. I should be able to get that done and out of the way before heading into the office each day. As to the numbness, well that is “normal” and should go away over time.
It seems hard to believe that I’m already 3 weeks plus 2 days out from surgery. I’m still using a single crutch at this time (now mainly just for balance in case my leg gives out while walking, which it does occasionally). And I still have to do stairs “old man style” (meaning one step at a time). But I’ve been seeing tremendous improvement recently (especially over the past 2 days), so I think I’ll be losing that crutch within a week.
Finally, it’s worth mentioning that Dr. Monson reiterated on Tuesday that “We hit a homerun” regarding the pathology report on my tumor. I’m relieved to see (and report) that this story will most certainly have a happy ending.
Update on Holly
It turns out that Holly is going to need chemotherapy, hormone therapy, and radiation treatment to fight her breast cancer. You can follow the details of her journey here: http://hhnbreastcancer.blogspot.com/
I mentioned to Dr. Monson the issues I continue to have: 1) the buildup of fluid in my leg, 2) loss of flexibility, and 3) numbness around the surgical site. He responded to #1 by putting a huge syringe in my leg to suck out the fluid (yes that hurt . . . a lot). For #2, he has prescribed physical therapy (3x a week for 4 weeks). PT starts next Wednesday. I should be able to get that done and out of the way before heading into the office each day. As to the numbness, well that is “normal” and should go away over time.
It seems hard to believe that I’m already 3 weeks plus 2 days out from surgery. I’m still using a single crutch at this time (now mainly just for balance in case my leg gives out while walking, which it does occasionally). And I still have to do stairs “old man style” (meaning one step at a time). But I’ve been seeing tremendous improvement recently (especially over the past 2 days), so I think I’ll be losing that crutch within a week.
Finally, it’s worth mentioning that Dr. Monson reiterated on Tuesday that “We hit a homerun” regarding the pathology report on my tumor. I’m relieved to see (and report) that this story will most certainly have a happy ending.
Update on Holly
It turns out that Holly is going to need chemotherapy, hormone therapy, and radiation treatment to fight her breast cancer. You can follow the details of her journey here: http://hhnbreastcancer.blogspot.com/
Friday, March 27, 2009
My drains are out!
I'm now 9 days post-op and Dr. Monson's office called me to get my drains removed. They were taken out this morning, and man did that hurt! There's a lot of pain and a burning sensation while they get pulled out, but the whole thing is over in about 15 seconds. I'm just glad to have them out and not taped to my knee any longer.
The PA also took off the other gauze pads covering the incision / staples and said that it would be best to just leave those uncovered. I was also given the "all clear" to take a shower, which is really nice since I've had to take bird baths for the last 9 days.
With my incision now clearly visible, I was able to measure it and it is exactly 12 inches long (not 16 as previously reported). Evenly scattered throughout those 12 inches are 34 staples, which come out in another 11 days (April 7).
"Zipper Leg" -- That's gonna leave a mark! (click to enlarge)
The PA also took off the other gauze pads covering the incision / staples and said that it would be best to just leave those uncovered. I was also given the "all clear" to take a shower, which is really nice since I've had to take bird baths for the last 9 days.
With my incision now clearly visible, I was able to measure it and it is exactly 12 inches long (not 16 as previously reported). Evenly scattered throughout those 12 inches are 34 staples, which come out in another 11 days (April 7).
"Zipper Leg" -- That's gonna leave a mark! (click to enlarge)
Thursday, March 19, 2009
I'm back home now and have a new “tricep”
Yeah, the “tricep” comment in the title is another lame attempt at humor on my part (i.e., 4 muscles [quad] – 1 muscle = 3 muscles [tri]). Yeah, still not funny . . . especially if I have to explain it . . . but I’m trying.
As Holly mentioned yesterday, the surgery went well. In fact, Dr. Monson said that the surgery was made easier by the fact that there was no surrounding nerves or major blood vessels. I take this to mean that my recovery time could be even faster than normal, with fewer long-term complications.
But what really shocks me is that after just one night in the hospital, I'm back home and feeling much better than I could have ever expected. Yes, the Percocet does help, but I have fairly good mobility too, being able to walk with crutches and even climb stairs. With any luck, I should be able to shed the crutches within a few weeks.
Funny thing is I have not even seen the incision itself. That’s all carefully wrapped up within several layers of dressings, the topmost of which is an Ace bandage. I suspect that they will change that when I have my drains removed next week. From what I can tell though, my guess is that the incision is about 16 inches long.
The worst part of the entire experience was the nausea I experienced after the surgery. I ended up getting sick a couple of times yesterday and really could not eat anything all day. This was likely the anesthesia, morphine, or both. But I’ve been fine in this regard since last night. I owe a lot to my sister Barbara (the Oncology nurse), who spent the night with me in the hospital and helped me with countless issues, including pushing me with the Physical Therapy. When you're stuck in a bed with nowhere to go, this type of support is priceless.
And speaking of family, everyone in my family has come into town to show their support. My Mom and Dad from Knoxville, my sister Diane from Lexington, and my sister Deborah from Cumming. All have been tremendously helpful. And many thanks to the rest of you for your emails, letters, and words of encouragement and support. Encouragement and hope really is the best medicine!
As Holly mentioned yesterday, the surgery went well. In fact, Dr. Monson said that the surgery was made easier by the fact that there was no surrounding nerves or major blood vessels. I take this to mean that my recovery time could be even faster than normal, with fewer long-term complications.
But what really shocks me is that after just one night in the hospital, I'm back home and feeling much better than I could have ever expected. Yes, the Percocet does help, but I have fairly good mobility too, being able to walk with crutches and even climb stairs. With any luck, I should be able to shed the crutches within a few weeks.
Funny thing is I have not even seen the incision itself. That’s all carefully wrapped up within several layers of dressings, the topmost of which is an Ace bandage. I suspect that they will change that when I have my drains removed next week. From what I can tell though, my guess is that the incision is about 16 inches long.
The worst part of the entire experience was the nausea I experienced after the surgery. I ended up getting sick a couple of times yesterday and really could not eat anything all day. This was likely the anesthesia, morphine, or both. But I’ve been fine in this regard since last night. I owe a lot to my sister Barbara (the Oncology nurse), who spent the night with me in the hospital and helped me with countless issues, including pushing me with the Physical Therapy. When you're stuck in a bed with nowhere to go, this type of support is priceless.
And speaking of family, everyone in my family has come into town to show their support. My Mom and Dad from Knoxville, my sister Diane from Lexington, and my sister Deborah from Cumming. All have been tremendously helpful. And many thanks to the rest of you for your emails, letters, and words of encouragement and support. Encouragement and hope really is the best medicine!
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Damn . . . Just Damn
Hi folks – sorry to start a new post off with that sort of tone, but I’m not sure there’s really any nicer way of putting it. My wife (and co-editor of this blog) Holly was recently diagnosed with Breast Cancer. A routine mammogram revealed the abnormality a few weeks back but it wasn’t until last week that we got the results of the biopsy, which showed the lump was cancerous.
Yesterday Holly had a lumpectomy at Gwinnett Medical Center, under the care of Dr. Wallace Martin. The surgery went as well as could be expected. The surgeon removed only 3 sentinel lymph nodes (the fewer the better), all of which (at the time) were negative for cancer. The tumor itself was about 2 centimeters in size and was removed along with the surrounding tissue (a.k.a., the margin). No drains were installed, which should make the healing easier or at least less complicated.
The lymph nodes, margins, and the tumor itself were then put though more exhaustive tests in the lab. We got a call back from the doctor’s office this afternoon with the pathology of these tissue samples. The good news is that the margins were negative, though we learned today that the surgeon had to cut into the chest muscle in order to ensure negative margins. The bad news, however, is that the lymph nodes were positive for microscopic cancer cells. As a result, she will need to go back in for a lymph node dissection, where they’ll surgically remove more lymph nodes and then put drains in. This is scheduled for next Tuesday (3/10).
Prior to that, however, we have a follow-up appointment with Dr. Martin on Monday (3/9). It is then that we should learn more about the type of cancer cells we’re dealing with and learn of a proposed treatment plan. All indications are that she will likely undergo radiation therapy, though chemotherapy has not been ruled out.
All I can say is it feels different when the shoe is on the other foot. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m fighting (and I believe winning) my battle with Sarcoma. That was OK with me. But now Holly has breast cancer?!? That really hurts. I guess I never really understood how she felt when she learned of my diagnosis until just yesterday in surgery when her diagnosis began to sink in.
I’m sure many may wonder why this is all happening to us. Some may even speculate various environmental theories as to the cause of a husband and wife within the same household both going through cancer at the same time. Yes this is rare and it’s only natural to think along these lines. However, to be quite frank, I really don’t care why this happening or what the cause might be since nobody can definitely answer such questions. I’ve never seen anything good come out of pondering such topics (especially as a cancer patient), which was one of the themes of my post on 2/23/2009. Instead, I’d much rather focus my energies on beating this thing and being a supportive, compassionate husband.
My next challenge will be to figure out a way to break this news to my two boys (neither know anything beyond the surgery). If I can just manage to hold them off for a few more weeks (until after my surgery), perhaps then it will be easier for them to bear such news (knowing that I’m nearing the end of my battle). But I think I should just stop overanalyzing the situation and take my own “one day at a time” advice here. I just pray that my kids will have the strength to handle such news . . . whenever it comes.
I’m planning for this to be my last post regarding Holly. Hopefully she will start a blog of her own, which I will add to the list of blogs that I follow.
Yesterday Holly had a lumpectomy at Gwinnett Medical Center, under the care of Dr. Wallace Martin. The surgery went as well as could be expected. The surgeon removed only 3 sentinel lymph nodes (the fewer the better), all of which (at the time) were negative for cancer. The tumor itself was about 2 centimeters in size and was removed along with the surrounding tissue (a.k.a., the margin). No drains were installed, which should make the healing easier or at least less complicated.
The lymph nodes, margins, and the tumor itself were then put though more exhaustive tests in the lab. We got a call back from the doctor’s office this afternoon with the pathology of these tissue samples. The good news is that the margins were negative, though we learned today that the surgeon had to cut into the chest muscle in order to ensure negative margins. The bad news, however, is that the lymph nodes were positive for microscopic cancer cells. As a result, she will need to go back in for a lymph node dissection, where they’ll surgically remove more lymph nodes and then put drains in. This is scheduled for next Tuesday (3/10).
Prior to that, however, we have a follow-up appointment with Dr. Martin on Monday (3/9). It is then that we should learn more about the type of cancer cells we’re dealing with and learn of a proposed treatment plan. All indications are that she will likely undergo radiation therapy, though chemotherapy has not been ruled out.
All I can say is it feels different when the shoe is on the other foot. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m fighting (and I believe winning) my battle with Sarcoma. That was OK with me. But now Holly has breast cancer?!? That really hurts. I guess I never really understood how she felt when she learned of my diagnosis until just yesterday in surgery when her diagnosis began to sink in.
I’m sure many may wonder why this is all happening to us. Some may even speculate various environmental theories as to the cause of a husband and wife within the same household both going through cancer at the same time. Yes this is rare and it’s only natural to think along these lines. However, to be quite frank, I really don’t care why this happening or what the cause might be since nobody can definitely answer such questions. I’ve never seen anything good come out of pondering such topics (especially as a cancer patient), which was one of the themes of my post on 2/23/2009. Instead, I’d much rather focus my energies on beating this thing and being a supportive, compassionate husband.
My next challenge will be to figure out a way to break this news to my two boys (neither know anything beyond the surgery). If I can just manage to hold them off for a few more weeks (until after my surgery), perhaps then it will be easier for them to bear such news (knowing that I’m nearing the end of my battle). But I think I should just stop overanalyzing the situation and take my own “one day at a time” advice here. I just pray that my kids will have the strength to handle such news . . . whenever it comes.
I’m planning for this to be my last post regarding Holly. Hopefully she will start a blog of her own, which I will add to the list of blogs that I follow.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Moments in Sarcoma
The Team Sarcoma Initiative (http://www.team-sarcoma.net/) has recently put out a request for Sarcoma patients and their families to write "Moments in Sarcoma".
This is a new project that will publish moments from the lives of patients and their families, doctors, researchers, and friends. Submissions are invited during the month of February. Then one submission will be published daily on the Team Sarcoma Website starting in May or June, continuing through the International Sarcoma Awareness Week in July and ending when all chosen moments have been published.
As a part of this very special project, one patient or survivor who submits a Moment by March 1 will be awarded a sponsorship of at least $2,000 (there may also be the possibility of some travel assistance) to participate in the 2009 "Core" Team Sarcoma Bike Tour during July 18-25, 2009.
For more details, see http://www.team-sarcoma.net/moments.html. All submissions must be 300 words or less.
Weighing in at 297 words, here is my submission:
“One Day at a Time”
So I’ve been battling Myxoid Liposarcoma now since July, 2008. I probably had this condition a year prior but just never knew it. Life was good and everything was easy. Then came the rather shocking diagnosis and even scarier “treatment” plan. At the time I wondered, “Why did this happen to me? Am I going to survive this ordeal?”
I’ve since endured 6 five-day cycles of intensive chemotherapy (over 4 months), numerous emergency trips to the hospital, 25 rounds of radiation (over 5 weeks), and surgery is only days away. I’ll be honest: the chemo sucked . . . and the smelly hospital food was even worse! My strong recommendation is to order takeout from your favorite restaurants instead. Whatever sounds appealing is what you should eat.
In contrast, the radiation treatment was a cakewalk. Sure, I now have funny tan lines on my left thigh and a little “sunburn”, but who cares! Life is good again, my appetite is back, and I’m even working fulltime (which I find quite therapeutic). It turns out that I work with some pretty darn funny guys . . . and it does feel good to laugh again.
If my sarcoma journey has taught me anything, I’ve learned to cherish the good times, enjoy my family and friends, have a few laughs, and even appreciate a fine meal. I refuse to dwell on the negative or live in fear. Yes, I concede that I am not in control of my destiny, but I am steadfast in my resolve to enjoy life and be thankful for all of the “easy times” that come my way (like now). I no longer grapple with questions that cannot be answered, but instead take things one day at a time.
http://dnovak-liposarcoma.blogspot.com
This is a new project that will publish moments from the lives of patients and their families, doctors, researchers, and friends. Submissions are invited during the month of February. Then one submission will be published daily on the Team Sarcoma Website starting in May or June, continuing through the International Sarcoma Awareness Week in July and ending when all chosen moments have been published.
As a part of this very special project, one patient or survivor who submits a Moment by March 1 will be awarded a sponsorship of at least $2,000 (there may also be the possibility of some travel assistance) to participate in the 2009 "Core" Team Sarcoma Bike Tour during July 18-25, 2009.
For more details, see http://www.team-sarcoma.net/moments.html. All submissions must be 300 words or less.
Weighing in at 297 words, here is my submission:
“One Day at a Time”
So I’ve been battling Myxoid Liposarcoma now since July, 2008. I probably had this condition a year prior but just never knew it. Life was good and everything was easy. Then came the rather shocking diagnosis and even scarier “treatment” plan. At the time I wondered, “Why did this happen to me? Am I going to survive this ordeal?”
I’ve since endured 6 five-day cycles of intensive chemotherapy (over 4 months), numerous emergency trips to the hospital, 25 rounds of radiation (over 5 weeks), and surgery is only days away. I’ll be honest: the chemo sucked . . . and the smelly hospital food was even worse! My strong recommendation is to order takeout from your favorite restaurants instead. Whatever sounds appealing is what you should eat.
In contrast, the radiation treatment was a cakewalk. Sure, I now have funny tan lines on my left thigh and a little “sunburn”, but who cares! Life is good again, my appetite is back, and I’m even working fulltime (which I find quite therapeutic). It turns out that I work with some pretty darn funny guys . . . and it does feel good to laugh again.
If my sarcoma journey has taught me anything, I’ve learned to cherish the good times, enjoy my family and friends, have a few laughs, and even appreciate a fine meal. I refuse to dwell on the negative or live in fear. Yes, I concede that I am not in control of my destiny, but I am steadfast in my resolve to enjoy life and be thankful for all of the “easy times” that come my way (like now). I no longer grapple with questions that cannot be answered, but instead take things one day at a time.
http://dnovak-liposarcoma.blogspot.com
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Looks like I’m going to avoid the hospital this round . . .
Great news! I believe that my body is now producing new white blood cells and that I’m finally on the upswing for Round #6. And just in the nick of time too, as my white count was very low Wednesday morning.
So how do I know I’m producing new white blood cells? For me, the signal is night sweats. (Yes, I know we’ve had a bit of a warm spell here in Atlanta, but that’s not it I assure you.) I noticed several months ago that I experience night sweats about 1 week out from having chemo and it lasts for about a week. This is the exact timeframe when new white blood cells would be produced. In fact, after Round #4 when I was hospitalized with critically low white counts, I knew I was going to be OK when on my second night I experienced night sweats. That morning, blood tests confirmed that my white count had jumped significantly overnight.
The doctors too have validated my theory, stating that “everyone’s body signals them in a different way. For you it is night sweats; for someone else it could be something completely different.”
I mention this mainly for the benefit of other cancer patients: learn and know your body’s signals. For me, it’s really encouraging to know that I’m on the mend without having to wait for the doctor to tell me that.
So how do I know I’m producing new white blood cells? For me, the signal is night sweats. (Yes, I know we’ve had a bit of a warm spell here in Atlanta, but that’s not it I assure you.) I noticed several months ago that I experience night sweats about 1 week out from having chemo and it lasts for about a week. This is the exact timeframe when new white blood cells would be produced. In fact, after Round #4 when I was hospitalized with critically low white counts, I knew I was going to be OK when on my second night I experienced night sweats. That morning, blood tests confirmed that my white count had jumped significantly overnight.
The doctors too have validated my theory, stating that “everyone’s body signals them in a different way. For you it is night sweats; for someone else it could be something completely different.”
I mention this mainly for the benefit of other cancer patients: learn and know your body’s signals. For me, it’s really encouraging to know that I’m on the mend without having to wait for the doctor to tell me that.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
CT Scan Results, Detailed Diagnosis, Treatment Plan
Though my follow-up appointment with Dr. Monson was scheduled for immediately after the CT Scan, his office was totally slammed that day and we were informed that “Dr. Monson is running a full hour behind.” Even so, we (my wife, Holly, and brother-in-law Dan joined me today) were ushered into Room 3 after only about 45 minutes of waiting in the lobby. But this was just the beginning of our wait.
The things we do when we’re bored
We’re all bored to tears and anxious to hear how things went with the CT scan as well as hear about the treatment plan. So what to do in the meantime? Captain Dan calls for an impromptu inspection of our room and a full light check (pictured). I have to hand it to Dan – he sure made the wait bearable.
The Doctor is IN
Dr. Monson explained that the CT scan looked good to him, though we would have to wait for the “official” radiology report to be sure. What a relief. “So does this mean that the treatment plan is Radiation Therapy?”, I blurted out. “Well, not so fast. I think all of your questions will be answered in just a minute” was the response. I knew this wasn’t good.
Making the Grade
It turns out that there are different grades of sarcoma, most notably low grade and high grade. Low grade is commonly treated with radiation therapy whereas high grade typically requires treatment with chemotherapy. I am told that a further review of my biopsy slides indicated the presence of the Round Cell component, which makes me “high grade”. Because of the “high grade” classification, this puts me at Stage III in the cancer stage grouping. The recommended treatment, therefore, is chemotherapy.
Treatment Plan -- a.k.a., Battle of the Bulge
The chemotherapy is expected to be administered in 3-week intervals for about 3 months. Radiation therapy may be used as well. Once that's all over, they will surgically remove the mass, which should be non-cancerous at that point.
Dr. Gina D’Amato (an oncologist and sarcoma specialist) will be managing my chemotherapy. I meet with her next Thursday afternoon (7/24).
International Sarcoma Awareness Week
Quite surprisingly, I found out that July 12 – 20 was International Sarcoma Awareness Week. Furthermore, there was an event just yesterday in the Atlanta area that included a Walk for Sarcoma Awareness. If only I had known earlier, I would have gone.
50 specialists can’t be wrong!
It turns out that a group of doctors (sarcoma specialists I believe) happened to be in Atlanta this week for a Sarcoma conference (in conjunction with Sarcoma Awareness Week). I am told that my case was presented to this group of doctors and various treatment options were discussed. But the overriding consensus amongst these doctors was that Chemotherapy was my best option as it seems to do a good job of attacking the round cells that I have. I guess there’s not much call for a second opinion here since I already have 50.
The things we do when we’re bored
We’re all bored to tears and anxious to hear how things went with the CT scan as well as hear about the treatment plan. So what to do in the meantime? Captain Dan calls for an impromptu inspection of our room and a full light check (pictured). I have to hand it to Dan – he sure made the wait bearable.The Doctor is IN
Dr. Monson explained that the CT scan looked good to him, though we would have to wait for the “official” radiology report to be sure. What a relief. “So does this mean that the treatment plan is Radiation Therapy?”, I blurted out. “Well, not so fast. I think all of your questions will be answered in just a minute” was the response. I knew this wasn’t good.
Making the Grade
It turns out that there are different grades of sarcoma, most notably low grade and high grade. Low grade is commonly treated with radiation therapy whereas high grade typically requires treatment with chemotherapy. I am told that a further review of my biopsy slides indicated the presence of the Round Cell component, which makes me “high grade”. Because of the “high grade” classification, this puts me at Stage III in the cancer stage grouping. The recommended treatment, therefore, is chemotherapy.
Treatment Plan -- a.k.a., Battle of the Bulge
The chemotherapy is expected to be administered in 3-week intervals for about 3 months. Radiation therapy may be used as well. Once that's all over, they will surgically remove the mass, which should be non-cancerous at that point.
Dr. Gina D’Amato (an oncologist and sarcoma specialist) will be managing my chemotherapy. I meet with her next Thursday afternoon (7/24).
International Sarcoma Awareness Week
Quite surprisingly, I found out that July 12 – 20 was International Sarcoma Awareness Week. Furthermore, there was an event just yesterday in the Atlanta area that included a Walk for Sarcoma Awareness. If only I had known earlier, I would have gone.
50 specialists can’t be wrong!
It turns out that a group of doctors (sarcoma specialists I believe) happened to be in Atlanta this week for a Sarcoma conference (in conjunction with Sarcoma Awareness Week). I am told that my case was presented to this group of doctors and various treatment options were discussed. But the overriding consensus amongst these doctors was that Chemotherapy was my best option as it seems to do a good job of attacking the round cells that I have. I guess there’s not much call for a second opinion here since I already have 50.
Monday, June 30, 2008
MRI Results
I was able to see a doctor at Resurgens Orthopaedics on Friday, June 20, 2008. They looked at it, took an X-Ray, and said they needed to do an MRI with contrast.
The MRI got set up for Monday, June 30 at a private imaging center (as they could get me in sooner than Resurgens). Though I didn't see the advantage at the time, it turns out that since this was a private facility, I got to take home my MRI Images the day of my MRI. (They then fax the Radiology report to my doctor "within 24 hours".) But my followup appointment with the doctor was scheduled for 3 weeks later (July 21). And that was all fine with me since I was OK (or so I thought).
After getting home, I couldn't help but look at the films and was shocked with what I saw. Though I'm not a doctor, it seemed quite clear that there was a serious problem. Here are some of those films:
The MRI got set up for Monday, June 30 at a private imaging center (as they could get me in sooner than Resurgens). Though I didn't see the advantage at the time, it turns out that since this was a private facility, I got to take home my MRI Images the day of my MRI. (They then fax the Radiology report to my doctor "within 24 hours".) But my followup appointment with the doctor was scheduled for 3 weeks later (July 21). And that was all fine with me since I was OK (or so I thought).
After getting home, I couldn't help but look at the films and was shocked with what I saw. Though I'm not a doctor, it seemed quite clear that there was a serious problem. Here are some of those films:
For the first time, I was actually nervous that I had something bad. I was convinced it was some sort of tumor; I just had no idea if it was benign or malignant. But this thing is huge: about 7.5 x 4 x 2 inches in length, width, and depth – elliptically shaped. Googling the subject revealed a few possible diagnoses, all of which were bad. I was getting more nervous.
I called my doctor's office who promised to share with me the Radiology report over the phone the next day. Now we wait . . . .
I called my doctor's office who promised to share with me the Radiology report over the phone the next day. Now we wait . . . .
Friday, June 13, 2008
No, Dave, that's not a "big muscle"
I took the family to visit my folks over the weekend of June 13 - 15, 2008. While I was up there, I was showing my sister Barbara (an oncology nurse) the "big muscle" (or so I thought) on my left thigh. (You see, my left thigh bulges out, which I thought was “cool”.) Barb looked at it and said “Dave, that’s just not right. You need to see a doctor about that.” Mom too insisted that I see a doctor. Both Barb and Tom (brother-in-law) later commented that it didn’t feel like muscle to them.I had noticed that there for at least 7 months and perhaps even as long as 12 months or more but never really thought much about it. It caused me no pain or discomfort. I simply assumed that my left thigh was bigger and/or stronger than my right thigh. I also often sit oddly in a chair where I put my right foot under my left thigh and I figured that my years of doing that perhaps somehow deformed or twisted my thigh muscle. (If you sit in a chair that way, you too will notice your thigh muscle “bulge”.) Unfortunately, I was wrong with all of my assumptions.
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