Nuked Again...

Today I had a PET Scan. I had no idea what this entailed, only that I could not eat anything after 9:30 am; and before 9:30am I was limited to eggs, chicken and cheese. Strange combo. Does this mean that chickens are the only life form that will survive a nuclear attack?

I went in at 1:30 today and was once again injected through an IV needle some radioactive liquid. It was also in a lead container with a lead sleeve around the syringe. I know this can't be good for me, but what's the worse that could happen, I could get cancer? Oh yeh, been there, got that.

So after I arrived at radiology, a tech met me and took me to the bowels of the hospital where I entered a trailer. Not the tornado-magnet type of trailer, an 18-wheeler tractor trailer! The pet scan is a mobile unit that travels around to several regional hopitals. Evidently it is more cost effective to rent this technological machinery than to purchase it. The trailer was divided into three parts, an area with two recliner chairs to nuke the patients and let it travel thoughout our system, a center area with the techs and some computers, and at the other end the scanning machine. The PET scan machine looks very similar to a CAT scan machine, just thicker....raised donut instead of a cake donut. Actually, the trailer was a nice unit, and if it wasn't for the electronic lift we used to enter the trailer, you would have thought that it was just a long narrow unit. The lighting was actually nicer than the hospital, plus they had a nice sound system to play music while the patients are waiting or scanning.

After being nuked, I had to sit in the reclining chair for about 40 minutes to let the stuff migrate throughout my system. The tech said to think of this time as pampering. What? Pampering? My definition of pampering in a reclining chair involves a soapy whirlpool for my feet, a lower leg massage and a fun polish color! This guy has spent way to much time in the trailer.

The scan took about 30 minutes. I had to lay with my hands over my head, and perfectly still. The narrow table that I was on went in and out of the donut hole several time during the 30 minutes. I would like to know why the very moment the tech says, "You need to lay perfectly still," my nose begins to itch. This happened with the MRI too. It's like when someone says don't look behind you, and you are going to go crazy if you don't sneak at least a peak. Well, that's exactly how I felt about my itchy nose. I twitched it several of times, like Samantha in Bewitched ... but no magic.

When I was done they asked me it I have small children at home. They said that no small children should sit on my lap for about 6 hours because I'm still radioactive. My daughter asked if this means that I have superpowers. I answered, "I'm a mom, I already have superpowers!" When I told the neighborhood boys that I was radioactive, they said "cool!" Nothing like being nuked to raise one's coolness level.

Whacky thoughts for the day...
Why when I am told not to move, an itch surfaces that needs to be scratched?
Why is it when someone says don't look, you absolutely must look?