talking cat scans, heroes, and an “anxiety-filled week”
Yesterday I went to the hospital for my latest check-up. Drank the raspberry Crystal Light, with stuff in it, changed into a burgundy gown (they gave me a blanket for my shoulders), had an IV put in. T came with me and in the waiting room there was a guy my age, with a friend also my age, who was also chugging the berry radiation drink. He’s only done this three times. I couldn’t count when he asked me, and he said, “wow, that many?” It was like seeing someone at the playground you want to play with because they’ve got the same toy or book and you’re insanely relieved and curious to see there’s someone else like you. There are so few people my age there, even in nine floors of cancer. Not to mention someone I could imagine meeting at a dinner party of smart hipsterati.
Then I went into the CAT room with the radiation technician, who’s got sort of a modest pompadour, who had me drink more of my make-my-insides-glow drink. He left and came back, gestured to my waxed paper cup (with Flexi-straw) and said, “Good?” Meaning finished. But I said to be funny (It’s like there’s a brick wall and spotlight when I’m there for some reason; I crack jokes like gum), “Well, not good, but done.” He said “Sorry, I’m sorry.” “That’s okay, I was just kidding,” I said. “No,” he said, “you’re the second person today to say that to me.” Made me feel unoriginal and him insensitive. Made me laugh today when I read William Safire’s column on this usage of the word “good” today.
So I lay on my back for a while, heard someone yell in another room, a woman. Heard someone ask her “what’s going on?” then a doctor I couldn’t see injected the contrast dye in my IV, the stuff that will interact with the glowy stuff I just drank. I felt warm all over, especially in my nethers (at my first CAT they told me this always happens). But I felt a little extra warm, extra woozy. The scan is short (ten minutes) and you’re only moving through a donut, not at all like an MRI. And the machines there tell you “Hold your breath.” And then it scans you for a bit and then the same male computer voice yells, “Breathe!” Again and again until it’s gotten a complete picture of your pelvis chest and abdomen.
After, I told him I felt weird, funnier than usual. He said that happens sometimes when you’ve had a lot of these. “It’s a cumulative effect?” I asked, alarmed. “Yeah,” he said. Shit. And then I said, “Are you allowed to tell me how the scans look?” “No.” I told him my doctor’s appointment wasn’t for another week. “Well,” he said, “It’s going to be a real anxiety filled week.” Jesus Christmas.
So I wobble out, T’s there and I get back into my normal clothes and then it’s on to Urgent Care to get them to look up my file for the blood work I’m supposed to have done (their computer system is stoneage). After some delay they find the order for lab work and I get my second “pinch” aka needle shot of the day. Does everyone do this thing I do? When I’m getting a shot I drive the nail of my index finger into my thumb, hard. To offset pain I don’t control with pain I do, I guess.
Then we had lunch at the Candle Café, where I had some green juice in the hopes of countering isotopes with chlorophyll and I made sure to drink an entire gallon of water over the rest of the day.
Oh and then we came home and watched Battlestar. Starbuck is my hero. While we were in the waiting room yesterday, T said I was his. Which was nice. Because I forget to stop and be nice to myself about all of this, I forget that it’s a big deal and just get on my case for not working hard enough, for not drinking enough water, for not exercising enough. For not being proactive enough about keeping this away. But maybe this is just my figurative way of driving my fingernail into my hand. You know?
