MRI

My year of interesting health issues continues

Yesterday I had an appointment at VGH1Vancouver General Hospital with a cardiothoracic surgeon, a title I did not know existed until the appointment was made by my family doctor.

We have to go back slightly over one year (and in reality, even further back than that to some unknown time) to trace up to yesterday’s visit to the above-mentioned surgeon.

In December 2024 I experienced what seemed like a prostate infection and was treated as such. For a time, the antibiotics worked, then they very much stopped working. I had blood work done and was re-diagnosed as having a bladder infection and took more antibiotics.

Then, for fun, on December 30th I tripped on a cracked section of sidewalk during my first run in four weeks, banging up both hands nicely.

In January, the antibiotics stopped working again. I ended up at the ER of Burnaby Hospital early in the morning, in a state of mild delirium brought on by fever. This time the big guns came out…more blood work, of course, but also a CT scan.

The infection had spread to my kidneys, which required antibiotics delivered by IV (which lasted for 11 days), and the good news there is that the treatment ended my infection story for 2024/2025–unless something happens in the next month.

But the CT scan also revealed something unexpected–a small mass near the top of my chest, just over 2cm in diameter. My family doctor did not think it was serious, so ordered an MRI on a low priority basis. It took 10 months to happen, as noted here.

Ironically, the MRI was inconclusive.

But that catches us up to yesterday, in which the surgeon told me:

  • More blood work will be done, to detect for markers that would indicate if the mass is cancerous. The surgeon doesn’t think so, but wants to be sure.
  • I will get another CT scan, at VGH or possibly UBC, due to the MRI being inconclusive.
  • Another test will be done at a cancer clinic that may take a while before it gets scheduled. He used words I’d never heard before, I may go back to ask for more details on this.
  • Surgery! The S word!

He explained a couple of things regarding the surgery:

  • Cancer is not malignant or benign, but exists on a spectrum. He thinks the lump I have falls on the benign side, but could still cause issues.
  • Asking nicely will not make it leave (OK, he didn’t say this, but I was thinking it)
  • He described the old-style surgery: cutting open the sternum (breastbone) and yoinking it out. While cutting open the sternum is not dangerous, it does make for a more complicated procedure and recovery.
  • He then described the new-style surgery:
    • Going in through the side–no bone-sawing needed!
    • Surgery time: 2-3 hours
    • Recovery in hospital: Typically a few days
    • Recovery at home after: About two weeks
    • After recovery, all regular activities can be resumed

I am not keen on getting surgery–it will be a first for me–but if it’s gotta be done, it’s gotta be done. For now I await the sheet for the next round of blood work.

Between getting blood taken and various IVs, I have probably been stabbed at least 8-10 times this year, with more to come. I would not have predicted this a year ago, and if I had such powers of prediction, I would have picked winning lottery numbers instead.

Here’s to 2026 being The Year In Which My Health Is Very Boring And Normal.

Calm is the bomb (also, an MRI update)

Calm is the bomb. Serene is keen.

These are thoughts I had today while out on a walk. It is mild out and we are between showers. I’ve been thinking about how the world at both the macro and micro levels are somewhat of a dumpster fire, and how that makes me angry. But I need to recognize that anger and do things to channel it productively. And I will, starting with this post by writing the thought out.

***

Also, here is my MRI update:

I got a call from the doctor today (phone appointment) and correctly predicted a few things:

  • The MRI would be inconclusive (it was)
  • Further testing would be needed (it is)
  • Said tests might include a biopsy (this was mentioned)

What the doc confirmed:

  • The mass in my chest (about 2 cm around) is not affecting anything else around it
  • It has not changed size since the CT scan back on (checks blog entry) January 9th
  • It could be a tumour (cue Arnold saying, “It’s not a too-mah!”)
  • If a tumour, it could be cancer (benign or otherwise)

I am not overly concerned, because I had recent blood work that came back negative, this lump has not grown, nor has it had any impact. But you never know, and that’s what makes our bodies so mysterious and magical.

Next up:

  • Another CT scan
  • Consultation with a thoracic surgeon to see what they think
  • Possibly a biopsy, depending on the above
  • Ice cream. I’ll need ice cream at the end of this.

In conclusion: Our meatbag bodies are kind of dumb. Here’s a nice fall photo:

I had an MRI today. If I never have another, I will not lament the fact.

Clip art almost makes it look fun. It is not fun.

Today I journeyed to downtown Vancouver, to St. Paul’s Hospital, where I had my first-ever MRI.

The staff were very polite, friendly and professional. Everything was explained to me in detail. I squished the provided earplugs into my ears, then donned the headphones, through which they would speak breathing instructions to me. The process took roughly 30 minutes.

After changing into a hospital shirt and pants, which made me look like an extra from Scrubs, and removing my watch and glasses, I laid down on the bed of the MRI machine. They would be doing a “contrast” thing near the end, which required an IV, so dye could be injected into the bloodstream. My bloodstream. At this point, getting an IV just makes me shrug. Even the contrast thing was no big deal, as they had done the same when I got my CT scan earlier this year and that one made me feel like I had peed myself, which this one did not. I told them to use whichever arm was more veiny when they asked if I had a preference for where I wanted to be stabbed. They went left, as they usually do.

With the IV inserted, they placed a camera on my chest and strapped it to the bed. They assured me the straps were for the camera, not to restrain me. They finally put a squeeze ball on a cord into my right hand which I could use to alert them if I suddenly needed to pee like no one’s business, panic or otherwise pause the procedure.

With these things done, off I went into the tube, and it became extremely clear why the questionnaire you fill in advance out asks if you’re claustrophobic, because once I was in, all I could see was the curving contour of the tube not far above my face, and nothing else. One staffer said most people just close their eyes, which I did.

There is no danger in falling asleep, though, as at regular intervals (which they warned me of when they came up) the machine would clatter, clank and hum like industrial music, loud even through the earplugs and headphones.

When the machine wasn’t revving up to maximum Magnetic Racket Index, I was asked to breath in deep and hold my breath. I was pretty good at this, though it felt like I had to hold my breath for a long time. This left me a bit light-headed by the end, though I didn’t realize it until I tried getting off the bed when it was over. The guy who gave me the IV had to help me sit up.

When it came time for the injection, I was told that some people feel a salty taste in their mouths. I didn’t taste anything, but was asked if I was OK. I said yes. I think I was asked, because I did feel something, but couldn’t really name it. Whatever it was, it made my heart rate jump for a few seconds, hence the inquiry (I suspect). The best I can do to describe it is that for about five seconds, I felt rather weird.

It wrapped up shortly after the dye injection. I got a very nicely-applied translucent bandage over the IV insertion point and told my doctor would get the results in about a week.

Overall, it wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I think I did pretty good at just laying there like a potato while the machine made its noises and did its thing. I would not be sad if I never faced another MRI, though.

The bandage: