Every single time a phlebotomist or nurse approaches me with a needle, I blurt out, "My veins are tiny, deep, and they roll. Sorry." Most of the time they take my warning seriously, and use a tiny butterfly needle, and tap all over my arm before they poke for the first time. Occasionally one will be cocky and grab the fat straight needle and just stab me. About half the time those folks will actually get in the vein, but when they don't, my life is hell. It's ten times worse for IVs. The needle has to be big to accommodate the catheter coming behind it. They don't usually go for Ol' Reliable in the outside corner of my elbow, but try something down in my forearm, wrist, or hand. None of those are comfortable, and they don't tend to last long. And the techs all think I'm BSing them when I say at my 2015 surgery it took 45 minutes and both arms multiple times to get my IV run.
The MRI for the next round of cancer was this afternoon. The three folks in the radiology department where I was all remembered my daughter who used to work there, and asked after her and the baby. It was so pleasant at the beginning of the appointment. They had to work at my veins for the contrast IV, even though I had spent the last three days chugging water so I would be as hydrated as possible for them. Forearm failed, so they ended up in the back of my hand. It was painful from the get-go, but I tried to be less of a baby about it. I got settled down on the machine, show tunes playing in the headphones to drown out the sound of the buzzing and whirring. Squeeze-ball panic button in my left hand. It was all going smoothly.
Then they pushed the contrast. Immediately my hand started to sting, but for about three seconds I was in denial about it. The pain just got worse. I started squeezing the panic button and I couldn't stop my feet from kicking through the pain. They came running in, and pulled me half out of the machine. They tried to caution me not to look, but I did anyway. It looked like they had shoved half a lemon under my skin on the back of my hand and wrist. They pulled the junk out and wrapped a compression bandage on it like a boxer taping their hand. One radiology guy said, "We really want to get this done, so you don't have to come back. Are you on board?" I was a little in shock still, so I wasn't sure where they were going to try to put the needle, but I nodded anyway. The woman of the crew went for Ol' Reliable in my elbow, and got it in first stick. Eventually my heart rate went down, and I was able to complete the test.
They had the radiologist come down to the dressing area to look over my hand before I went home, to be sure no more intervention was necessary. He said my body would eventually absorb it, but wouldn't give me a time frame. It's now about eight hours later, and my hand is still swollen about half the size it was at the worst, and it's quite tender. Driving home was awful, and I canceled a breakfast meeting with an old friend in Denver because I didn't want to drive one-handed on the interstate.
For all that, the MRI results are already in my portal, and they show nothing we didn't already know. So I guess the lumpectomy can proceed as planned.
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