Back from the day’s joy at the hospital. I had my pre-admissions interview (no problems there), and then a PET scan and a CT scan.
Sweet jumping jesus on a steam-driven pogo stick.
Next time they offer to give me a perscription for Adavan as a “calming agent”, I’m fucking TAKING IT.
Let me ‘splain: Here’s the process for the PET. I get an IV, and then an injection of irradiated glucose. (Y’see, cancer cells are highly metabolic — more so than normal cells, so this stuff will go right to them) Then, they scan you, and can see if you have any cancerous cells anywhere else in your body.
All well and good.
However. Because I have melanoma, this needed to be a top-of-the-head to the bottom-of-the-feet scan.
The aperture for the PET scan machine is roughly the same diameter as the width of my shoulders. And you lie down, and get stuck into that hole, and then sloooooooooowwwwwwwwwly inched out.
A hole where my shoulders were rubbing against the sides, my arms above my head, and when I breathed out, I could feel it bounce off the wall inches from my nose and back into my face. And, because I’m gigantofuckinghuge, they put me through this twice — once feet first, and once head-first, to make sure they had overlap.
The first scan was about 30 minutes. In the hole.
The second scan was almost 45. Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit.
Did I mention that I’m claustrophobic, and have been since childhood?
Yeah, not so much with the fun. Full-on panic attack, in fact….and one that I couldn’t do anything about, because I had to lay completely still, in that dark little hole, for over an hour.
This was followed up by a lovely barium milkshake, and a CT scan, which is like the PET, but merely a donut instead of a hole, and much, much faster.
As one attendant said to me: “Think of it this way — this is, in all likelihood, the hardest thing you’ll have to do during your treatment. When you come in for surgery, you’ll just be sleeping.”
A good way to think about it. But DAMN.