The Ultra-Scan report

 

Monday’s trip to the Bruno Cancer Center was largely uneventful, i.e., not painful.   However, while waiting for my echo cardiogram (an ultrasound for my heart), we were treated to the woeful cries of a woman, who was obviously having something near and dear to her violently removed without even as much as an aspirin for the pain.  “Lord, please hep me!   Hep me Lordy!  Ohhh!”.   This went on for several minutes/hours/days, I’m not really sure.  I was having serious concerns at this point about what I perceived to be a simple procedure.   Maybe they had to crack open my sternum in order to perform the echo cardiogram.   Or maybe the ultrasound scanner wand had to be inserted into uncomfortable places in order to get a good reading.    I was not in my happy place.  I was eventually called back toward the torture chamber,  and could not bring Malena with me.  I supposed that they did not want any witnesses.  But my trepidation was all for naught.   I only had to take off my shirt this time.  I laid down on my side, the technician waved her wand and took the magic readings.   Took about 15 minutes, and most of that was because the machine started to act a bit wonky.  You know how magic is sometimes.

Next up was the PET scan.   This was in a different location by way of 5 floors,  4 hallways, 3 automatic doors, 2 buildings, and a parking lot without a pear tree.   They were expecting me when I checked in and handed me some paperwork to complete.   Minor stuff.   I was called back quickly, and the technician explained the process to me and my wife.   He was going to inject me with radioactive sugar (at least I think it was radioactive – I haven’t gained any superpowers so I am not sure), and let it circulate through my bloodstream for an hour, all the while I was to sit in a recliner.   This was no ordinary recliner, mind you.   This was what I will call the Montalban model, with rich Corinthian leather.   It was a very comfortable chair.   So I sat there, chillaxing with my nook (Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, thank you very much), waiting for the hour to pass.   After my 60 minutes of total chilling, I was led to the scanner gizmo.   I laid down on the table, and had my arms wrapped up so they could not move.   I am not claustrophobic (I love Santa!), nor am I afraid of tight spaces.  The table started to move into the gizmo, so I did what any sane person would do – I took a nap.   The technician woke me up about 25 minutes later, and told me that my oncologist would have the results the next day.  Wow!  She told me it would take a week.   Maybe she needs to interpret the results.   Anyway, I am hopeful that I can get the results on Thursday when I go in for my first chemo treatment.   It would be nice to know what stage my cancer is in to know what we are really dealing with, so keep your fingers crossed!

On Thursday, cancer, you start to go down.