Monday, 20 July 2015
A Simple CT Scan
A simple CT Scan
At the end of week one I went for a CT Scan, to check if all my organs are OK. I was still rather trippy at this point and was not at all looking forward to having to stay upright and awake in the waiting room. Neither was I looking forward to drinking 1.5 litres within 40 minutes, as my relationship with liquid was not overly friendly, having to ensure I drink a good 2.5 litres every day. Especially if I was going to have to hang on to that liquid and not be allowed to visit the loo. Serious stuff as I’ve had three children and am in my fifties. We arrive at the CT waiting room. It is filled with patient looking patients and their companions, with a suspicious looking hospital water jug placed in front of each. A smiley Radiographer with a jug in hand, calls my name, walks over and places a jug and a cup in front of me, “drink this within the next 40 minutes, it’s only water, the toilets are round the corner”, he says. Oh thank the Lord, I can wee. My bladder is smiling. Also it’s just water, no nasty sickly yucky stuff to have to force down. I can do this. Lee dutifully fills my cup and off we go, glug it down. I join the others in a weird enforced non-race to reach the bottom of my jug. I sip, I lean against Lee, upright is so hard and I so want to close my eyes, I sip, I lean. First cup done. Lee refills it, off we go again. Rinse and repeat until done. The silence is broken by a lovely water swigging lady in her sixties doing an enormous belch, giggling and apologising. We all nod and smile at her, we understand, we are united. Smiley Radiographer guy reappears with another jug, he gives it to Mrs Belch and says “This is your last one, when finished change into a gown”. What? More to drink? A second jug? They snuck that in. In between my sips and leans I start to observe, everyone gets a second jug which is only half full, so not as bad as it could be. Fast forward to the bottom of my jug. Here he is, Smiley Radiographer with the second one. Sip 1, lean 1, knit 1, purl 1, turn, repeat. The end of the jug has arrived. Walking like a drunk pretending not to be drunk, I concentrate hard and collect my gown and plastic bag for clothes. Oh now a conundrum, how undressed should I get? I try to remember other scans I’ve had in the past, but brain won’t focus, I decide on completely undressed as I don’t want to lean on the CT Scanner trying to delicately whip my knickers off. At least I brought my dressing gown with me, so I can hang on to a bit of modesty. After a dizzy visit to the loo, with my plastic bag full of clothes, I stare hard at the patients’ legs and feet as I negotiate getting past them back to my seat without falling over. If only I’d had the fun beforehand to warrant such a hungover state. It’s my turn. In the scanning room, I take off my dressing gown and two girl Radiographers smile at me, the one offers to do my gown up at the back, oh dear, my arse was hanging out, but I’m too spaced out to care. I bend down to get on the scanner and fart. Yes a loud unmistakable, unstoppable, uncontrollable, no warning fart. I choose to ignore it. A thought brushes past that I should apologise, phaff, who cares, these girls will have seen and heard it all before. Carefree chemo induced flatulence. Radiographer no 2 inserts a cannula and informs me that the dye going in can make me feel like I’ve wet myself. Really? Oh come on, I’ve just drunk litres of water, farted uncontrollably and now I will feel like I’ve wet myself? Chemo Calm kicks in. So what, who cares if I pee myself too, they’ll mop it up. Such liberation from one brought up in well-mannered leafy suburban Surrey! The scanner talks to me, instructing me to breathe in, hold it, and breathe out. A couple of rounds of this and there it is, I’ve wet myself. Have I? It feels very very warm and wet down there. No, no, the feelings gone, Halleluiah my body didn’t let me down. One more round of breaths and I’m being slid back out. Cannula out and I can get up. I get to my feet and fart. Oh my good God, why? My body once so in tune with my brain now has its own agenda. Once again it wasn’t a small little phhit, no it was a rip rawing son trying to out-fart other son, type of fart, my boys would have been proud of me. The struggle to put on my dressing gown and stay upright, doesn’t allow me to verbalise any kind of apology, I just smile weakly and leave the room. I get changed in a different cubicle which contains a big poster explaining what to do, I note it says to leave your knickers on. Oh God, I went in there knickerless and I farted, twice.
You may think that was enough, but it doesn’t end there. Lee has hold of me and we walk to the hospital exit, lying down is such a strong need right now. Damn we need to pay for car parking. The card taking payment machine is broken, do we have any cash? Of course not. I just want to lie down. We need to go to the shop and get some cashback, but I don’t think I can make it. Lee finds a wheelchair to plonk me in while he goes to get the cash. He pushes it out of the way, towards the row of public phones, a little thought plinks into my head, don’t leave me by the phones, but I don’t have the energy to tell him nor to have the conversation where he tells me it will be OK etc etc. I just sit down in the wheelchair hugging my handbag, feeling so way spaced out, tired, dizzy, I just want to go home and sleep. Lee goes man-hunting for money in the shop. I watch the myriad of different types of people walking through the exit, all types from all walks of life each with their own sad stories, a group of Eastern European looking gypsies go past, then they stop, turn look at the phones and look at me. They are walking towards me, I stare at my handbag, don’t make eye contact. Three of them surround me, a woman talks gobbledy-gook at me, all I see is headscarf, dirty face, eyebrows, missing teeth, gold teeth. I’m thinking please don’t have a cold or anything, I have a really low immune system. More gobbeldy-gook, more missing teeth, she’s reaching in her bag, the other two lean in, Lee where are you? Help me, help me! She pulls out a business card, it’s for a taxi firm. She points at the phone, points at me, points at the card. Seriously?? She wants me to f**king phone a taxi for her??? I’m sat in a hospital, in a wheelchair, looking like something the cat dragged home and she thinks I’m going to phone a taxi for her?? Two more join her crew, there are five surrounding me, I can’t help it, I feel unclean, in danger, scared, vulnerable. I shake my head and slur “I’m sorry, I’m really ill”. One of the men points and talks now, I shake my head. Lee, Lee where are you, I’m not liking this!!! At last they give up and go, as the man turns away his top is rucked up and his back is full of rash type spots, oh yuck yuck, am I infected now??? Irrational self protective thoughts. Finally alone again, I can’t quite believe what just happened, it was horrid. Where is Lee? I wait a bit longer, then decide I can’t wait any more and get up to go find him. Hang on, get up? Why the hell did I not just get up when all that was going on?? Why did I just sit there?? Where the hell has my brain gone?? I could have just stood up and walked away. I just sat there like a prized lemon. I find Lee, sandwiches in hand, doing battle with the cash machine. I tell him I want to go now, he hurries up. I’ll explain to him in the car what happened, once we are well away from my intimidators who are now all stood outside, just in case my fiercely protective husband decides he may want to have a conversation with them!! So that was my adventurous scan appointment. Just a routine CT Scan. Full body Bone Scan coming up next…..
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