12. First Stop Nuclear Medicine
As I watch the clock, my mind is starting to focus on the day ahead. I get up just before seven o’clock. I am allowed to eat a light breakfast, as my surgery isn’t until the afternoon. I’m so grateful to be able to have a coffee to start the day.
We head off early as I have a series of appointments prior to surgery. I know it will be a long day and I mentally pace myself to be relaxed and take it one step at a time.
First we go to Day Admission and let them know we are here. Then it is down to Nuclear Medicine for an 8.15 appointment but I first have to check in with Radiology as they are expecting me at 10am. I let them know I am around the corner. We wait in Nuclear Medicine for about 20 minutes. The day is starting for many of the staff who walk in with coffee or make a cup of tea. I sit observing the busy life of a hospital. Patients are wheeled past by cheery orderlies, head off for ECGs or back from other tests and procedures. We are in an old corridor with linoleum up the walls. There is no natural light, it feels like we are in the basement.
Eventually Niki calls me and we go into the area behind where we are waiting. She takes me into a room and explains that I will have an injection into my breast. This will put a radioactive material into my breast so they can scan me and locate my sentinel nodes in my armpit. She warns me that I will have a local anaesthetic first, but the injection after that will sting for one to two minutes. Apparently my body wants to reject the liquid she injects so there will be a mini war going on in my breast. She also says that previously they had to give four of these injections, now it’s only one. I think that is meant to comfort me and she apologises a lot. I’m lying down and she injects me. A terrible agonising stinging pain hits me – I swear under my breath. She leaves fairly quickly saying she will be back soon. The pain is agony and I feel like I have been assaulted. I’m so upset I start crying. I cry and tears squeeze out of my eyes and roll down my face, into my ears. I try not to sob out loud and I try not to lose control. Niki returns after a while, telling me I am good because I didn’t swear. She is either being polite or encouraging. She gently wipes my tear stained face.
Niki takes me into the scanning room and I lay on a very narrow bed below the MRI machine. She explains what will happen and a large plate is lowered to within a few inches of my face. She suggests I turn my head to the side. I am naked from the waist up and have to hold my left arm out to my side and grasp a cold metal bar. This scanning takes about 15 minutes and if it weren’t so freezing in there I would probably drop off to sleep. I do manage to zone out and almost doze. Then the plate is moved to the side where more scanning is done. Niki is in the control room, chatting and joking with a male colleague. It’s a normal day for them but very different for me but I reassure myself that stage one is nearly over.
When it’s finished I dress and go back to my husband. I find the whole experience so confronting and can barely tell him about it. I just say “that was hideously painful” as I fight back tears. He looks helpless and strokes my arm. His presence calms me and I couldn’t do this without him by my side. Then we head back to admission again and sit and wait for 15 minutes. I sit calmly, focussing on slow deep breathing and observing others around us. People are waiting in pairs. The patient is in a white towelling robe and long white socks. I use the bathroom and am amused to find a sign on the wall warning patients not to eat or drink, or even chew gum, as their surgery will be cancelled if they do. We do some paperwork, and then we are sent down to Radiology.