Predate moments: The biopsy.
Sounds like a band name. The Biopsies.
After the ultrasound, which proved that, yea verily, there was a lump of something that wasn’t supposed to be in my throat, in my thyroid, and the lump was measured at around 4 centimeters(pretty damned big) and well formed(read- not just a sack of fluid, but firm and not breaking apart), they decided a fine needle biopsy was needed to figure out what it was. Benign? Cancerous? A wad of tissue?
First off- do not let the whole “fine needle biopsy” fool you. As much shit as I’ve been through, I believe the biopsies to be the most scarring things that happened. I would not wish them on anyone.
First off, I went back to the same lab I did the ultrasound, and had the same woman as the lab tech. She was very eastern European, in speech, and, I suppose in what I stereotype in demeanor. Pretty tough.
Only she couldn’t do the biopsy. She was a tech, and they needed a doctor to do the biopsy. So, I waited in the dark room, with the bed, and the side medical fixture with all of the doo-hickeys needed for different medical things, and some more technical things, like the swivel light, and cameras and such. Small metal tray of tools. And a beautiful painting picturing four women of different ethnicities in garments that billowed out and took up the whole bottom of the picture. On the wall. The only thing illuminating in the whole room. Everything else was dark.
I waited. Got checked on a couple times by the tech- let me say, she was a nice woman, just not that outwardly sympathetic. Finally, she came back, and with her was… John Boehner.
Seriously. This guy looked exactly like John Boehner, only maybe 85% his size. And he did the breezy doctor talk which shows he had the “I care, but I don’t have to listen to what you say” patter down, and things got real.
First, I was to lie down with a pillow wedged such a way under my shoulders that my neck was bent back to the pretty uncomfortable state. Meanwhile, I had a long goatee at that time, and the tech proceeded to take tape and secure it onto the side of my chin. Basically, every time I thought of turning my head, it would vibrate.
So, there I was, in a pretty excruciating position to begin with, and he is applying local anesthetic to my neck. A little squirt here, a little squirt there. And we wait.
Small talk.
What the fuck is it with anyone in a position of working in a situation like that who thinks I would want to do any sort of small talk? All I was focusing on was trying to tense the right muscles in my shoulder and neck so I wouldn’t have severe cramping for the next few weeks.
Oh, and another thought. This one still gets me. If you have the room specifically for lying people down, and poking and prodding them, DON’T. PUT. THE. PICTURE. ON. THE. WALL. If you want something to look at, fine. You’re an asshole in that situation. If you are concerned for maybe comfort, but even a simpler thing, focus for the poor individual you are biopsying, put the picture on the Ceiling!!!
Unconventional? Sure. But what the fuck do you care? You’re in and out as fast as you can be. Just do it, and be surprised how people react to that.
Seriously.
Onto the best part.
My neck is “properly” numbed, and out comes the needle. NOT A FINE NEEDLE. A looooong, big needle. It would have to be. Why, you ask?
Well, this is how it goes down in my biopsy:
The doctor takes the needle, and pokes it in somewhere around your collarbone. He then proceeds to travel it all the way up diagonally to where the lump is. I would say at least three inches. But wait, it gets better! Now that he has confirmation from the ultrasound that he has hit the lump, he begins to vigorously jiggle the needle back and forth, so as to collect cells from said lump.
In spite of the anesthetic, it feels like I want to hack up severe strep throat at this point.
This process is repeated.
Three more times.
It was going to be two, but Boehner said “One more time, for good measure. Just to be sure”
Cheerful, like he’s dusting off a knickknack.
And the tech… I remember this quite well- the tech spent most of her time bouncing up and down… just in my line of vision. I don’t know if it was for my benefit… I suppose so… but it was very weird and unacknowledged by anyone in the room.
Then I was done. Band aid. Ripping the tape off of my goatee. The exit is thataway, mister.
I cannot account for the violation I felt with that. There are much worse things in the world, I guess, but, goddamn it, it was a horrible thing to experience.
Here’s the clincher:
The first biopsy results—Inconclusive. So now what? Another biopsy, only this time, Mr. Boehner is not happy. And he takes it out on me during the vigorous jiggling of the needle. So much so that I do the only thing I can do. Moan in pain, and the tech saying “Just another moment. It’ll be over soon.”
She lied.
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