I Had A CT Scan Yesterday, But Only One Of Those Routine, Not Deathly Illness-Related CT Scans

If you follow me on the Twitter, then you might have had to weather my volley of tweets about my trying to get to my CT (Computed Tomography) scan appointment yesterday afternoon. It wasn't until later in the day after getting a few worried emails, text messages, and Twitter replies that I realized my mention of a CT scan might have upset some of you.


Please. Don't worry. This was one of those routine, not deathly illness-related CT scans to check up on those of who don't have cancer anymore and would like to make sure it stays that way.

For those not in the know, I had a hysterectomy in July of 2007 after I had been prodded and poked and excised for a few months to establish that I indeed had cervical cancer. I was really lucky and didn't end up being one of those cancer patients who had to go through radiation and chemotherapy. I just got to walk away and heal up and go on with my life.

What they like to do, though, is to keep an eye on us ex-cancer folks for about five years after the fact to make sure that we're really in the clear, and so I have a pap smear and a CT scan every six months to determine that nothing cancerly has returned, or, at least that is what I'm supposed to do. My own stupidity and a touch of the post-traumatic stress disorder from the double-whammy of my cancer and the Palinode's broken back in 2007 have caused me to be less than diligent, but I'm back on my game.

I dutifully went to my appointment — after going to a hospital where it wasn't, and then going to an ultrasound clinic where it wasn't, before I finally hit the correct location — where I drank a ton of Telebrix mixed with water, and then I was shot up with some kind of dye so that they could see my soft insides, and then I was slid in and out of this big circle that had a recorded voice that told me when to hold my breath and when to breathe.

There is also this little rectangle above your face when you're in the machine that has red lasers in it and a small sign next to it that tells you not to stare directly at the lasers, which always makes me stare directly at the lasers. The whole thing always feels very 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Also, whatever that dye is that they shoot into your bloodstream spreads this weird heat through you that settles in your crotch and makes you feel like you wet your pants. You don't actually end up wetting your pants, but it's still very humbling.

So far, I've been declared healthy, and I'll have the results from yesterday's scan early next week, so I'm hoping the goodness is a continuing theme.

By all of this I mean to apologize to everyone I accidentally worried yesterday afternoon. I'M ACTUALLY REALLY VERY FINE, unless they have horrible news for me next week, which they won't, because I totally get to dictate my reality, I'll tell you what.

Late Night Tea Making

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