Okay.  Let’s be clear.  Having a bone marrow test is not a walk in the park, but it definitely is not a terror-filled trip to hell.

Seriously.

Take it from someone who (now) knows.

As you may recall, my bone marrow test was scheduled for Monday, but the CT machine broke down at the hospital, and it was rescheduled to the next Friday; but I’m in my car in the driveway Monday 7:45 a.m., with my swimsuit on under my clothes ready to head to H2O blast at the Y, when my phone rings. 

The machine is fixed. Have I eaten or drank anything? No. Can I get there by 9 a.m.? Yes.

Back into the house, change out of my swimsuit; sit around for a bit; and dear hubby takes me to the hospital to get my bone marrow test done.

Note:  Very sensibly, I think, they don’t make your ride wait for the full 5 hours that I’m going to be there.  Hubby can go home, continue with his work and I can call him when it’s time to come get me.  Much better plan for everyone, I think.

For some reason, the imaging department is a long walk from the imaging entrance.  Weirder yet, the actual imagining equipment is another long walk from the imaging department.  Seems like bad planning to me, but what do I know?  I guess I just got the scenic route.

Get checked in, get gowned up (yes, they had a gown that fit, thank you very much) and put on my handy-dandy hospital socks that we love; go over my meds, what’s being done and by who and how, take vitals, get an iv inserted (OWWWW – she doesn’t like using the vein at the crook of the arm – noooooo, she likes the vein that runs along your forearm – not as painful as in the hand, but a close second).  They draw blood (CBC and clotting tests – even though they have access to my weekly CBCs – they need it “fresh”).  And then I wait and wait.  In at 9, procedure not until 11 – and actually it was 11:15 when they took me in.  Thank God (TIDBI) for the Kindle app on my iPhone. 

Nice trip down the halls to the CT machine on the gurney – and only one time did they almost take my fingers out when they misjudged the closeness of a wall.  Wheeeeee!

Now comes the most uncomfortable, difficult part – getting positioned on the CT “tray”. 

They want you on your stomach, which means all those fat old lady bumps are going to get in the way of laying flat and are going to protest mightily about any attempt to being squished flat.  But my fat old ladies boobs are big but saggy and highly moveable – so I finally get them hoisted mostly out of the way (let’s hear it for saggy flappy moveable boobies!).  The belly is just going to have to suffer – it’s big and saggy but not so moveable.  But we’re not done! 

They want your arms out front, like you’re superman flying! I can move my saggy flappy boobies, but where the fuck am I supposed to put my head?  I am personally happy to report that my head is neither saggy nor flappy, and only minimally moveable.  The pillow is too fluffy and immediately surrounds my face (no matter how much I try to bunch it up)!  They eventually put a folded sheet on top of the pillow to give me a less sinkable (and less suffocating) surface, which helps a lot.  However, I can tell you (and I am telling them) my neck and shoulder muscles are not happy and are likely to be screaming within a few minutes – and I am supposed to hold this position for at least 30 minutes. 

Enter sedation.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

First dose, my muscles are able to relax (or at least, they are no longer talking directly to my pain centers); and we can begin.  Into the CT scan, out of the CT scan, into the CT scan, out of the CT scan, blood pressure cuff inflated, blood pressure cuff deflated.  And while I am relaxed, I am still awake and aware. 

First lidocaine shot into my upper butt cheek.  Okay.  Poke and burn.  No problem.  Second lidocaine shots, deeper into my upper butt cheek.  Little ow.  I let them know. 

Second dose of sedation meds.  Now they seem to have a chisel and a hammer working on my hip bone (yes, they have to fracture the hip bone to get to the marrow).  I can hear the tap, tap, tap, and feel the pressure, but no pain; and after that this fat old lady just kind of goes away for awhile.  (Love my sleepy juice.)

All done.  They are removing the draping (with the oh-so-painful, wake-you-the-fuck-up tape that holds it in place); I get up, lay down on the gurney, and back to my little room I go.  Where they check my vitals every 15 minutes for the next hour or so, and in between I sleep. 

I’m discharged, text my hubby, get dressed, and get into their all-plastic wheelchair – which is kind of painful on my back where I now have a hole in my hip; but I’m still under the influence of sedation (which, by the way, is really helping my bad knee). 

Hubby picks me up, we go home and I proceed to doze (in the company of our cat Moose) the rest of the day.

I can’t shower for 24 hours.  I can’t go in the pool for 7-10 days (shit).  My right arm, where they had the blood pressure cuff, is full of broken blood vessels (because that’s what happens when you use a blood pressure machine on my upper arm).  And the hole in my hip is tender – not painful, just tender.  In a couple days, we can take off the dressing and let it heal the rest of the way.

And that’s it. 

Like I said, it’s time consuming; parts are uncomfortable but nothing is downright awful and painful.  So if you need this test, it’s okay.  Honest.  Just get sedation and listen to the voice of experience.