FEBRUARY 16, 2023 – Today I experienced another bone marrow biopsy ahead of my six-month-post-transplant appointment with Dr. Killjoy.
The doc earned his nickname when he said last August, “No more downhill skiing for you.” I plan to show him a picture of S-turns I made recently on a downhill ski slope. I’ll explain that technically, I wasn’t downhill skiing, since I used x-c skis. In my defense, I’m careful. I ski in control and tackle downhill slopes only when they’re nicely groomed and I have them to myself.
At my regular oncology exam earlier this week, Dr. Kolla told me about two patients who’d seriously injured themselves sledding recently. One punctured her spleen and a kidney. I’ll relay that to Dr. Killjoy, if he gives me guff about my controlled S-turns down the backside of St. Moritz. Dr. Kolla, by the way, knows better than to discourage me from x-c skiing. Admittedly, I’ve pre-empted admonitions by assuring him, “I don’t take crazy risks.” To his credit, Dr. Kolla, who grew up in India, has wholly embraced winter. He’s taken up downhill skiing to catch up with his kids. He doesn’t jump on a saucer and scream down a long, steep hill into a row of trees. At least I don’t think he does.
Today’s procedure was my fifth bone marrow biopsy since the outset of my medical expedition; my fourth biopsy under sedation. As I learned during the initial, diagnostic biopsy, undergoing the operation without being conked out is something you do only once.
If you’ve reached 60 and have a bad back, you’ve probably encountered a nurse, physician or physical therapist who’s asked, “On a scale of one to 10, 10 being the worst, how would you rate the pain you’re feeling?” If that question had been posed in the course of my first biopsy, I would’ve screamed, “Ten to the 10th power!” adding, “There should be a law against what you’re doing!” Actually, to inject some lame humor after the PA pulled four samples of marrow from my pelvic bone, I did say (after four “YAAAAs!”), “There should be a law against this.” Except, my screams overwhelmed my humor and elicited profuse, genuine apologies.
When the torture was over, I apologized for the apparent need for apologies. I said, “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.” In any event, I wouldn’t be suing for “emotional distress.” Even a rookie lawyer would get my case dismissed using the “he’s a guy, therefore he’s a wimp” defense.
The subsequent biopsies have been completed with the aid of a 2 x 4 . . . I mean, sedation. The worst effect of each experience has been a sore upper butt for a day and extreme hunger from the required 12-hour fast before the half-hour procedure. These are minor inconveniences. What merits another standing ovation is the smooth, cheerful, competent, comfortable care that a highly coordinated ensemble of healthcare workers grant every patient.
For the third consecutive day, I didn’t ski, thanks to procedure prep and now, a sore upper butt. Conditions are unsafe anyway. The landscape here is coated with ice, and I need to be truthful when telling Dr. Killjoy, “I don’t take crazy risks.” The forecast for late next week calls for significant snow, allowing me to resume my progress toward 100 ski-days this season. Meanwhile, I’m chillin’ . . . with an ice pack on my upper butt.
(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)
© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
