Checked in and filled out paperwork, then was escorted to the changing room. Sean, my stylist for the day (alright, so he was my Radiological Tech too) had a lovely and ever-fashionable big-ass gown waiting for me. After transforming into a proper patient – readily identifiable by being sheathed in a humongous, billowing garment - he got the IV started.
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| Big-ass gown? Check. IV installed? Check. |
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| My view after IV installation. This month's Sunset magazine features camping! |
After posing for
paparazzi, Sean positioned me on the CT table and we were off.
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| Am I the only one who thinks CT scanners look way too phallic? |
CT scans of both
neck and chest meant two pushes of contrast dye, the stuff that causes a whole
body flush and makes one feel like she peed her pants. No matter how many CT scans I get, I’ll never
get used to that sensation, even though the tech lets me know when it’s
coming. I first feel it in my mouth and
throat – a heavy metallic taste – then my ears feel hot and flushed from the
inside out. Next the flushing spreads to
my chest, and finally the pee feeling.
It’s amazing how quickly the circulatory system picks this stuff up and
commences to rush it throughout my body:
it takes probably less than 10 seconds from the first push by the tech
to the pee sensation.
Done with the CT
scans and dressed, I was escorted across the parking lot by Fabiana (LOVE that
name – molto Italiano) for the PET scan.
Vuong, the PET
tech, poked my finger to read my blood sugar: 79 (normal is 80 to 120 – yeh, no
kidding it was low - no food for 8 hours).
He then reached into a metal box labeled “CAUTION – RADIOACTIVE MATERIALS”
and extracted a thick metal vial that he hooked up to my IV port and pushed –
yum, radioactive sugar!!! The F-18 Fluorodeoxyglucose (FDG) binds to cancer cells so
they will be highlighted on the scan.
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| Should I be scared.....? |
I then
sat back for 35 minutes so the glowing glucose could make its way through my
body. Meanwhile, Vuong asked me what
date it was. May the 4th, I
replied. To which he responded, “May the
4th be with you.” He REALLY
needs to keep his day job…..
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| My view while waiting for the glowing glucose to wend its way through my body. |
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| There were two of these bags at my feet in the small room I was waiting in. Shouldn't these be a little more secure? Couldn't someone just walk off with them and sell them on E-Bay to some nuke-crazy country?!!? |
The actual PET
scan took longer than the CT scans, probably close to 30 minutes. But as soon as the door was closed and the
scanner started doing its thing, I zonked out.
No night-night drugs, no sedatives – it was just very peaceful and
relaxing in there and very conducive to sleep.
I never even heard Fabiana come back in and didn’t know she was there
until she began taking the blankie off.
 |
| Done! (Am I glowing???) |
As I left, Fabiana
handed me the sheet of post-PET scan instructions, which included the
following:
“You will retain
some of the radioactive material from your injection for 24 hours. This can cause you to set off alarms at
certain areas where radiation monitoring is in progress; i.e. airports, garbage
dumps, border patrol checkpoints, etc.” Well that’s just great. Now I can’t take that load of junk to the
dump on my way to the Tijuana
Airport
I guess I’m in a
holding pattern until I hear from the oncologist. But, today’s scans were an important step
forward: Dr. Glenn will be able to stage
the lymphoma, which will determine if or when I’ll start treatment. However, I won’t be holding my breath for her
call – it’s Friday, it’s the weekend, and I’m SO sleeping in tomorrow – after battling
this wicked cold for the past week, that’s all I care about right now!
