Fear of dying
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Medical Tests
It’s difficult for me to relive my two weeks of diagnosis. As you recall, In my previous post, Undiagnosed, the doctor warned me that we needed further testing.
The unknown is a real fear. I understand why people fear death. The unknown fate of life is fragile, and the two weeks I waited for my diagnosis allowed me to reflect. If life gives us a lucky second chance when death is felt at such proximity…record your emotions. Until I received a diagnosis, my life felt controlled by a puppet master who would decide when my show was over.
Maybe my accomplishments thus far were complete, and it was time to take a bow. Death was on my mind even if I wanted to live with all my heart because I no longer had control. When we are not content with a particular path, we have to make a choice. I didn’t have control over my fate, but I had control over my reaction. Keo and I mentally prepared before every scan to process our response. I have to admit that I didn’t want to know the truth, but I was closer to my mystery pain every day. I had to trust Keo’s words when he kissed my head gently and whispered, “We will be okay.” We had to hope and pick one another up when we felt like it was too much.
Every time Keo left me strapped in a hospital flatbed with my warm white blankets, I felt the NEED to cry. I had to feel alive that I mattered. My tears reassured me that I still cared that I was going to get through this challenge. My scans were my time to mentally detox and reflect.
My diagnosis was not easy to detect. Doctors looked over my scans and sent my information to Mayo Clinic to have concrete answers. After my first MRI, I went for a complete bone scan. A bone scan shows details about the bones (as you may have guessed). During the bone scan, a blood pool can also be performed. A blood pool shows our white blood cells naturally curing a part of our body that may be sick. My blood pool showed an abnormal amount of white blood cells in my lower left thigh. The radiologists explained that the information was useful, but not enough.
Would there ever be enough information? We hear stories of misdiagnosis and diagnosis given a little too late. Would I be one of those “little too late” diagnosis? Sure we have made advances in healthcare, but there is always room for error. The tests continued, more MRI’s.
The MRI machine has a particular two-tone beat. It’s like I had my own DJ making a mixtape just for me to experience. To distract me, I would imagine how to dance to the two-tone sound. Two beats that went on forever…maybe a slow reggae style, or perhaps I could throw in a salsa move? Not that I am the best dancer, but how I love to dance. The two beat MRI spoke to me and made me realize how selfish I had once been with Keo because I felt insecure on the dance floor. I wasn’t a dancer, but I thought it was a talent I should possess.
Being Latina comes with a few stereotypes; artistically swaying to salsa drums' sound is one of them. Mind you, salsa is only born in certain Latin countries like Colombia or Puerto Rico! Anyhow, the media made its way into my definition of what it means to be Latina. I laughed sadly as I lay vulnerable for my scan because I once worried that I might dance in the wrong direction. I was currently in a position that may never let me dance, and it felt like a robbery. How I wanted to dance with Keo and show him that I didn’t care if I missed a beat. He has always danced for fun to be silly and sensual at the same time. I saw it as an obligation because of the stereotype I wanted to fulfill. Over the years, Keo and I have grown into a friendship filled with love, and we have helped one another overcome our fears. He has helped me with my dance floor phobia, but I still regret the times I could have just “let it go.”
My reflection time was over, and I waited for a technician and Keo to help me get down from the table. I needed help with any movement that required putting pressure on my knees.
I was on painkillers as needed to control the inflammation that constantly terrorized my leg. While I experimented on codeine and tramadol, funny incidents occurred.
One of them involved the toilet. We had a toilet technique, and I usually felt the cold seat on my butt, but I had an accident one day. I tried to hold my bladder for as long as possible to avoid being a burden. Keo rushed me to the toilet via wheelchair, and when we arrived, I happily released my bladder, “Janine, STOP! You’re peeing on the floor and our shoes!”
I felt embarrassed, and we both knew I couldn’t bend down to clean up my mess. Keo looked around and grabbed two handfuls of paper towels from the dispenser. He soaked my urine in the paper towels and threw them in the toilet. The radiologist knocked on the door, “Everything okay?”
I answered, “Yes, be right out!”
Keo and I looked at the toilet and saw the second mess of the day. The toilet was clogged with paper towels, and water poured out with no way to stop the flow. There was no way to escape the incident, and a plumber was called to fix the toilet. We started to giggle like children, and I forgot about my embarrassment. Keo opened the door and pushed me in my wheelchair. He explained the bathroom situation to the staff and apologized on my behalf. We laughed at the bathroom incident for the rest of the day and didn’t speak about my exams. We wanted to live in that moment and laugh.
Who says you can’t laugh when you think you might die?
I will continue my story in the next post.
