Biopsy

See first and second posts in the chronicle here and here. 

July 27. Thanks to an ER doctor (I went in because I heard hissing every time I breathed so I was worried I had a collapsed lung, but luckily I didn't) making a phone call, I got my lung biopsy moved up a week. In hindsight I wonder how many extra weeks or even months I will be given by simply having that biopsy a week earlier. 

That biopsy was NOT fun. And not just because of the sheer force of will required to keep from coughing long enough on top of holding my breath to be stuck with a supremely sinister looking six inch needle than have three samples extracted. I timed my latest cough syrup with hydrocodone plus a Xanax to hit at the same time the contrast dye would. 

The radiologist could only use local anesthesia on me because my oxygen levels were too low (eff you too, pansy-ass lungs) to risk full sedation, which would have required a longer stay as well. 

Honestly, I hadn't expected to feel the needle inside. I don't know why. I certainly didn't expect to feel the needle puncture the skin with such precision (and with local anesthesia supposedly at work), nor feel every additional eighth inch of movement as it embedded its way further into my chest cavity. It was a feeling beyond strange, the most painful half-gasp of my life. 

Meanwhile I had to hold still as possible for the doctor as he directed the needle ever further into my lungs, every bit of which I could feel. The needle may have been razor thin, but that didn't mean it didn't pierce like a dagger. I felt like I couldn't catch my breath, like I was stuck in between. 

The doctor asked if I was ready for a sample and I said yes. He counted off seconds for me to hold my breath (a task that was difficult before thanks to my cough felt downright impossible now) as he extracted one sample, then a second sample, than a third sample. 

As someone proud of my capacity for pain, I was fighting back tears by the end of the procedure. Once he withdrew the needle and I could breathe correctly again, I wiped away the single tear that had escaped in the last few seconds. You did well, the doctor told me with his hand on my back as I let out a heavy round of coughing. 

I asked to see the samples. The radiologist showed me a long thin line of pinkish-red. 

"It's red?" 

"Of course it's red, it's tissue. What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Neon green? Like kryptonite or something nuclear. You've seen the x-rays, that shit's not natural."

The doctor laughed and led me to the door. 

Right. Now we wait and see.