Don't worry, it's just like being at the dentist. Aaaaaaargh!!!
Before taking the plunge, doctors want to be sure they know exactly what they are dealing with. To do this, they ask for a biopsy. This means that a small sample of cancerous tissue will be removed from the beast. In my case, the problem lies in the location of the affected cells. Nothing is impossible, but a biopsy of the liver is still easier to perform than a sample from the lung or skull. So that's what they're going to do.
First mistake: when I leave for the biopsy, I've just come back from the cafeteria, so I'm fully dressed, from head to toe. The gurney guy doesn't say anything about it; anyway, it wasn't his job to worry about that. And he just loves my glasses and shoes too much to care. We go back through the tunnels to get to some building I don't know in a wheelchair. It's always fun, we pass electric carts racing each other, slowly but with a real desire to win. It's distracting. We arrive and I get yelled at because I should have put on a paper gown, a paper cap, etc.
— We're in a surgical environment, my good sir.
— Well, nobody told me anything, and I don't do biopsies every day.
The nurse softens, assures me that her irritation is directed at her colleagues who didn't prepare me properly, not at me. Once changed, I wait a few minutes on a wheeled bed, chat a little with the surgeon (at least I think he's a surgeon) who is going to perform the biopsy. Everything goes well and, first thing, I see the biopsy needle: holy shit, it's really long! I had an inkling of an idea, but it's something else when you've got it right under your nose. On top of that, you understand, or at least they explain, that they're going to stick it in and when they reach the right spot, they're going to pull the trigger (yeah, it's actually a kind of cap gun for doctors, this thing), it will go CLACK and that's it, the meat will be harvested.
So far, so good, as they say. I'm lying on my left side, and I can sees the nurse holding something on my right side that's connected to the TV, guiding the surgeon and his gigantic needle. And then disaster strikes! The guy, who had been very polite up until then, tells me that he's going to anesthetize the area, that I shouldn't worry, that it's “JUST LIKE BEING AT THE DENTIST”! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! He could have said anything else, but not this!
Not the dentist.
Just sitting in a dentist's chair requires a superhuman effort on my part, and having to keep my mouth open takes up so much of my energy that I can't control anything else. My body tenses up, I'm a bundle of nerves, and I regularly find myself half out of the chair with the guy trying his best to do what he has to do. I've already kicked the tray with all the drills and other torture tools on it. Another time, it was the arm of the big lamp that took the hit. Anyway, every time, I feel like I hear the famous line, “Is it safe ?” from Marathon Man and I spend the whole day recovering.
In the end, he should have kept his mouth shut because as soon as he starts the anesthetic injection, I tense up completely. The nurse tells me to breathe and relax, but it's no use, and I tell her it's going to be painful. I no longer feel the area, it's time to insert the biopsy needle. I'm so tense that I can feel it progressing towards my liver and at the same time, my stomach feels like a hard, compact ball. CLACK! It's done! Strangely, my liver doesn't hurt, but I can feel a spot on my stomach in perfect symmetry with where the sample was taken. I will still be able to feel this spot the next morning, which is crazy. They bandage me up and turn me onto my right side to compress my liver and prevent internal bleeding. The nurse leaves to call a stretcher bearer and fill out some paperwork, while the surgeon stays and strikes up a conversation about my glasses: “That's weird, they look like swimming goggles” and... my shoes. Is this a habit or what?
Two stretchers arrive to take me back to Achard, still on the same bed. They don't even notice my glasses and shoes, which is a bit disappointing, isn't it? When we reach the room, they call in a third person to help them transfer me to my bed without moving me. I'm going to be lying on my right side for another hour and a half. M asks how I'm feeling and if everything is okay. I answer him with my back turned, as I have no choice. Try it, you'll see, it's funny: you're talking to someone, but if a third person walked into the room at that moment, they would see you talking to the wall, because that's what you're doing. Walls have ears, as they say.
It all ends with an evening in front of the TV watching a really bad movie chosen by M, which I would probably have chosen too, since there's nothing else on. But we have to get our money's worth out of the TV subscription. 😉
