scans, gowns and things that go bump in the night

I had a telephone chat the other day with Dr. Cheryl Ho (pictured at right) who works out of the BC Cancer Agency in the Big Smoke, aka downtown Vancouver BC. She's a highly qualified, busy and well respected oncologist, and she talks to me on the phone.

How cool is that? I think of the many hours of traveling I've wasted here on the Sunshine Coast to see some specialist in Sechelt or Gibsons to disclose my birthday and medical insurance number, or to be told, "Your test results were fine."

I'm the one with cancer, but their time is more precious than mine, and the Sunshine Coast is hardly known as a hotbed of medical superstars. But, Dr. Ho talks to me on the phone.

Dr. Ho already has results from the flurry of tests I've undergone these past few weeks: CT Scan, bone marrow biopsy, blood tests and ultrasound, and she's not found anything new or conclusive. In fact, on Thursday, she's presenting it at "conference," a brainstorming session with a radiologist, surgeon and other medical experts, who will focus their talents on my perplexing case.

The blood tests didn't reveal any surprises, the bone marrow biopsy showed nothing startling and the ultrasound didn't identify any lymph nodes that looked as though they would be enlightening in a biopsy.

So, she's thinking that a low-grade lymphoma is likely. Low-grade lymphoma is a non-Hodgkin's (NHL) cancer of the lymphocytes or white blood cells, also known as indolent lymphoma. If low-grade NHL was an animal, it would be a sloth. Very slow-moving and, as cancers go, downright lazy. Some people with low-grade lymphoma live for years, decades even, without treatment. We like lymphoma.

Dr. Ho sees a "spot" in my lung on the CT Scan, likely one or two tumors that weren't removed in my February surgery, although a radiologist will make the call, and the call may be a biopsy to confirm either cancer or some evidence of the surgery. It's a little early for scar tissue, so I'm guessing it's a tumor that got off lucky in Round One.

If it is, I'll be saying goodbye to the upper portion of my left lung (most of it) in a pulmonary lobectomy, followed by a few days in ICU (Intensive Care) and a total of 7-10 days in hospital, presumably Vancouver General. The surgery doesn't kill most people and the recovery period is up to three months. As you no doubt imagine, I can hardly wait.

But enough of that, I want to tell you about the CT Scan...

I've lost count, but I think I've had no less than ten CT Scans so far in 2010, along with numerous X-rays and a PET Scan. A geiger counter would likely register me at the Toxic Waste Dump mark on the scale.

"Take everything off except your panties, socks and shoes, here's a gown, put your clothes there, come out when you're done."

Something needs to be said about hospital gowns. You haven't lived until you've been ordered into one, then forced to parade through a waiting area of other patients, with either your body bizarrely contorted to hold the thing closed at the back, or with your bare arse hanging out.

Brilliant. A sick person, or one with certain injuries (think broken arm) would find it challenging to tie up the front, so, let's really make their day by putting the ties in the back.

In the past few months I've had the opportunity to model gowns at St. Mary's, Lions Gate, Vancouver General Hospital, and the BC Cancer Agency. Everyone has a different style of gown. Sometimes the gown styles vary between departments of the same institution.

They're all slightly different, they're all blue (why blue?) and they all should be supplied with little instruction booklets, with diagrams, to show you how to put the damned thing on.

Most are made of thin, chilly cotton, but I encountered one made of some kind of light, stiff paper. Can't remember where, so the supplied drugs must have been of better quality than the wardrobe.

Some have three arm holes, which results in two backs and one front, or two fronts and one back. You can only be sure that it has three sides, but that's harldy helpful when your body only has two. Some varieties of the Alien Gown (it has three arm holes-- what would you call it?) have ties, and some don't.

The tieless style is guaranteed to shrug off one of its shoulders, leaving the arm hole at your elbow. Remember the guy with the broken arm? Now he's really buggered because that was his good arm, and now he can't lift it to adjust the gown which has effectively become a strait jacket.

No matter how you put it on, you may feel as if you're being gently but firmly garrotted. Although the designer went crazy with arm holes, he forgot all about room for the neck. A little scoop would have made the garment so much more comfortable, but (do you remember platform shoes?) sometimes one must forsake comfort in favour of high fashion.

If you're wondering about the title, there's nothing in this post about things that goes bump in the night. I had been thinking of my room-mate at VGH, but I rather liked him and telling the story would be a little bit mean. Hope you're not disappointed.