So I mentioned earlier in my posting my not-so-secret distaste for CT scans. While I do love that they manage to find cancer inside of me, my intolerance (to put it lightly) for contrast dye tends to give me a rather bad taste in my mouth for them. (Literally, I can taste the contrast dye, same with saline. It’s not really that great.)
Not long after my first CT scan I was due to go to England with my Girl Scout troop for a two and a half week scouting adventure. We were to spend time at an international Scout & Guide camp, and then the rest of the time were due to enjoy all your typical sights and sounds of London. I’d been saving up and fundraising with my troop for an entire year previous to this trip, so I pulled your typical sixteen-year-old and refused when my doctors asked me to forgo the trip to start chemotherapy. It was a pretty frustrating struggle, but we came to a truce and I did all of my pre-chemo tests before we went to England, and I would start chemo immediately when we returned.
This left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth as well, knowing that this was my last trip of fun before I’d go under treatments and lose my hair. I was sixteen and I had cancer. I knew nobody my age, nobody in my class of over seven hundred students that had cancer. Every teenager feels singled out…this took it to the extreme. So, of course, it reflected in my attitude. I tried to take on a positive outlook at first, joining with several girls in my troop at PDX as we prepared to fly. We boarded a small aircraft from Portland to Vancouver B.C., and that seems to be where my happiness ended. With as large of a group that we had on such a large plane, the computer gods seemed to deem it worthy that while everybody else in the flight was seated next to at least somebody else in our group on the plane, my ticket led me to a lone seat somewhere near the back of the middle section by a lady who felt it necessary to take up the remaining six empty seats next to us to lay down.
Needless to say I was pretty convinced that the world was against me. Even though my mother did some shuffling and asking and maneuvering to get the lady to another empty row of seats and two other friends from my troop to sit next to me, it seemed to sour my attitude for the remainder of the trip. I wanted so badly to have a good time, but it seemed no matter what my attitude took a dour perspective.
This all came to a head sometime in the middle of camp when I noticed that my left arm was becoming unbearable to move. It was stiff and I couldn’t bend it to even a forty-five degree angle. When I pulled back my sleeve I saw a rather large lump in the crook of my left elbow. It was painful enough for me to bring it to my mother’s attention. Who then brought it to the attention of the nurse. Who then decided I needed to see an actual doctor.
I feel pretty horrible for the two lovely ladies that took the time to drive my mother and I to the nearest cobblestone village. I don’t recall it, but apparently I had some very colorful words about being on vacation and having to visit a doctor…again. After a short visit I found out that the lump was an infection resulting from the lovely jab of benedryl I’d taken to stop my anaphylactic shock after, well, my CT scan. I was given antibiotics in a little glass pill bottle and sent on my merry way back to camp. Like a good girl, I took the pills and watched the lump eventually shrink to less than a centimeter across. Of course, in my rebellious streak, I didn’t feel pain anymore and my arm was mobile, so I tossed the remaining pills in a streak of stubborn stupidity. The little bump caved in eventually and has served as a tiny hole in my arm that is to this day still there.
It is also what I call the bane of all phlebotomists as it seems to have pushed my veins out of sight and out of mind on my left arm. This wouldn’t be such a bother if I hadn’t had a mastectomy on my right side–which very few nurses want to touch with any sort of IV or needle. Also my veins are on the small side. To put it straight, no nurse aside from one in the last fourteen years has managed to get the veins around my inner elbow (what is that spot even called anyway?), but it seems every time I try to ward a new nurse away from it they seem to take it as a challenge. Or they don’t believe me. Or they don’t like the other options on the arm and feel like it’s their last resort. I’m not really sure what it is but every nurse seems to feel the need to try to find the vein and I tend to walk away bruised with multiple holes.
With the exception of oncology nurses. For some reason they get it. You’d think they’ve seen a lot of pathetic, small, or difficult veins in their line of work. Crazy that.
You know the admonition given by every single medical professional and pharmacist…take ALL of the pills….well, I KNOW you follow through on that order now. You are a MUCH better patient than I am!
That would be your left antecubital space, or LAC for short. The inside elbow usually has the fattest, easiest vein. ED patients always come up with an IV there because it’s quick and easy. Unfortunately, it’s the worst place to have an IV because of arm bending, discomfort, etc… they clot up quickly & I always try to get it replaced within 24 hours. Oncology nurses are superstars at doing IVs- they have to be. ;)