On 01.02.02, I was diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. Too late for surgery, I had chemotherapy, which failed. In May the chemotherapy was changed and I was soon in remission which was celebrated and welcome and lasted nine years - until October 2011. There was progression in 2011 so more treatment was indicated and I am now back in partial remission. But I'm not only a cancer patient - I also enjoy my family, walk my dogs and am learning to draw and paint. Life is good!

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Not so much

On Tuesday I got into a mini argument with a doctor who wanted to send me home on Wednesday.  He said he had to see "medical necessity" for me to stay, not just fear.  I didn't quite know what to make of that, but yesterday took care of itself. It was a different doctor, one who will be here all week, and one who has truly learned to listen to the patient.  I kept telling him I just wanted to puke and I would feel so much better.  One time, he said, would be okay, but more would bring back the dreaded nasal gastric tube.

He left and I started to sit up.  With no warning whatsoever, I immediately puked all over, barely making it into the bathroom.  That was the second time someone has had to call the housekeeping department this week.  I have a partial small bowel obstruction, a souvenir from the October's radiation.  When you put food on top of it, it doesn't have much of an exit route and vomiting seems to be a favorite option.  (Is this TMI?  Sorry, it's my life these days.)

At any rate, the listening doctor wasn't about to send me home.  He ordered a third abdominal x-ray series instead.  The partial obstruction looked total to him, so we're back to Day One, headed toward surgery.

That was yesterday. Today I was sent for an abdominal CT scan, the kind where you drink a noxious barium solution.  Yep, they had to call the housekeeping department again. I was yelling for morphine as well, it was just too godawful painful to lie on my stomach for hold-your-breath shots. The bladder burning was going full speed as well.  The test will be completed or restarted, not sure which, tomorrow. I'm expecting the surgeons to begin their parade again soon, although all seven have been clear that I am a poor risk and they don't want to do it.  I'm clearly the patient from hell - very messy with unsettling outcomes.  One did assure me that I would wake up from surgery, so this probably isn't the last week of my life, but we are definitely getting closer.


  1. Barbara, I'm so sorry to hear all you are having to go through -- keeping you in my daily prayers.

  2. All people are special, but it may be that some people are more special than others--and you're one of those "some people." I bet the nurses and the doctors-who-listen know that, too, and don't think of you as the patient from hell. xo

  3. Anonymous6:47 PM

    I agree with RR. You are special and NOT the patient from hell. Hang in there. I am sending Hugs and more hugs. Anne

  4. Barbara I hope and pray that the surgery will bring relief and you will be restored to health.

  5. How discouraging! I'm so sorry you are in so much pain. I pray that the surgery will bring you some relief and that you will be able to go home soon and manage the pain. My heart goes out to you. If only all doctors were specialists in people skills, not just medical skills.

  6. You are all so very kind!


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