Another day, another CT scan. I’ve gotten pretty used to the drill:
- Drink of large cup of water in the waiting room while reading out-of-date magazines.
- Look the other way as the nurse pokes and prods, desperately trying to find a vein to inject the IV contrast into.
- Lay face up on the table and make idle chitchat with the nice technician with the funky glasses.
- Place my arms above my head, as if I’m going to be shot out of a canon.
- Try to relax as my body moves into the machine that will take pictures of what may or may not be growing in my lungs and other organs.
- “Breathe in. Hold your breath. Breathe.” These three commands are given by the automated pre-recorded voice of CT-Charlie (not his real name).
- Be reassured when the technician tells me that the number on the screen is not my weight and that I don’t really have to pee; it just feels like it.
- Exit the machine and wait outside to make sure I don’t have a reaction.
I walk back to my car, blissfully ignorant of the results of the scan. While I know that waiting for results causes anxiety for many others, I feel good. Until the results of one of these scans tell me otherwise, I’m OK. Today is a good day.