I don’t think embolized is a medical term, but I’ve had my embolization. For about 15 minutes this afternoon, it looked as if it wasn’t going to happen today, and the tears of disappointment I’d cried hadn’t even totally dried when someone popped into the room to tell me not to eat and that I was back on the schedule for the day.
Overall, it’s been a weird day. I woke up around 5:30 am freezing from the cold air in my room. I mentioned it a few times, and thought I could fall back to sleep, but it was so cold, I went in search of warm blankets. I walked back into the freezing room and then immediately left again, searching for a lounge or warm refuge. I asked one of the nurses/admin staff I’d seen before about a place to warm up and she said I could sit in the open conference room. (Also, I didn’t want to just disappear and cause a panic as missing patient so I made sure someone knew where I was and checked to see if it was OK if I left my room for awhile.) I wrapped myself in warm blankets on a couch…and then fell into a deep sleep until I was being woken up to make room for a meeting. By that time, my room was warmer. It was one of those weird unexpected sleeps where you feel you’ve been asleep 1,000 years.
The doctors came to see me and I took a shower and waited for my embolization. In the afternoon, the nurse said that it hinged on my potassium numbers, which had been too low in the morning, but she returned later to tell me that my potassium was at 4! I haven’t seen that number in a long time. But then the doctor came in to let me know that a lot of emergency-type cases had come in and I’d been bumped, something I knew that could happen. After that disappointment, I was so happy to be put back on the schedule and wheeled down.
Though the interventional radiologists yesterday seemed confident that the embolization might solve the diarrhea issue, the doctor I talked to before the procedure wasn’t as sure, because the pancreatic tumors are also probably producing VIPoma, the hormone that creates all this chaos. (I, too, share this doubt.) My hope is that this procedure provides some diarrhea relief and then the doctors can get a handle on the pancreatic tumors if necessary. He also went over the risks of a punctured lung in case they did ablation as well (they didn’t) and infection risk. After some paperwork, I was wheeled into the room and met the doctors and anesthesiologists, who assured me they would take good care of me. It wasn’t the procedure itself that worried me; it was the risk of it not working to even slow this diarrhea. One doctor had a Wonder Woman scrubs hat on. I would have complimented her on it, but the sleep medicine got to me first. “I feel funny,” I announced as I always do, and then there was nothing. I always irrationally feel it’s impolite somehow to drift off to sleep immediately after meeting everyone. I worry about what I’ll say to people. I haven’t seen The Exorcist, but maybe it’s something like that.
When I awoke, they were adjusting my oxygen tubes in the recovery room, and they told me I had to lie flat for awhile. Since the embolization went through my femoral artery, they would check for bleeding on a regular basis and check the pulse in my feet. They put an IV in my hand while I was knocked out, something that I feel happens almost every time I’m put under. (Better that the tricky IV is put in while I’m asleep than when I’m awake.)
The embolization went well, and they embolized two tumors, and they did not need to ablate. Now we wait and see if slows down the insane amounts of VIPoma my tumors are producing.
While I’m tired in the hospital, I decided it’s OK to watch some things I’d never watch like Sex and the City 2 and reality TV, but as my body tries to kill itself, I absolutely can’t watch the weird made-up dilemmas reality TV “stars” (oh, no, someone’s mini dog is pooping in the house or someone needs to find just the right handbag!) or shows where brides fret over not finding the right dress, so I stick to food or remodeling competitions. I settled on the show where people cook with incongruous ingredients in the grocery store, hosted by Guy Fieri, whose shows I have been watching with more enthusiasm ever since I saw that recent Shane Torres comedy bit.
I had no idea what time it was in my post-procedure haze, until a nurse asked if I knew I had to lie flat until 10. “Ten pm?” I asked. “What time is it?” I think they told me I needed to lie flat for four hours before I was fully awake. It was 8:30 pm, and my first thought was that my mom had probably been waiting for a call from me from the moment I’d said I was being wheeled down at 4. I didn’t bring my phone, so the nurse made the call for me, and my mom was so happy. I had to lie still to make sure my femoral artery didn’t spring a leak. Another nurse explained that I had to take it easy on that artery so I couldn’t sit up, move my legs, cough or laugh, and immediately my body felt the urge to do all of those things. But I watched the cooking show: Full of pain meds I wasn’t nauseated or hungry so it was innocuous viewing. I’m a little hazy on the details of the show now that I look back on it, but I think if I can keep the pain and nausea under control, I can have a somewhat normal few days. I don’t think the anesthesia has worn off yet, so I’m not sure how I’m going to feel.
I should be asleep, but I want to hang on to the hope that this fixed things somehow. If I continue to have diarrhea in the next few days, I’m afraid this hasn’t worked. As long as I stay up, I can avoid possible disappointment. I looked at things online like duvet covers and summer plants and events as possibilities instead of just thinking about IVs and death and sickness.
Tomorrow, at least, I can talk to the doctors and see if my main oncologist has a pancreas plan. I am on a lot of nausea drugs, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat, but the nurse told me that I’m not on a clear liquids diet anymore and can order off the regular menu, which is good because I have my eye on the stacked eggplant special.
Tonight, I’m grateful I was able to have this embolization done, and of course, for all the kindness everyone has shown me. As I was being wheeled to my procedure today, I felt so at peace and was thinking of how lucky I was, and that was before they even pumped me full of various drugs. I am actually so behind in thank-yous, and I don’t even have the words to thank so many of you. Please know how grateful I am for everything and for this dilemma.
I could have become very depressed, and I definitely have moments of fear and anger and sadness, but I have been constantly reminded of bright spots in my life.