THREE MONTH SCANS!!

Once you get through chemo, surgeries, etc., and you know you are clear and free of cancer, you still have to endure the check-up appointments. I have to go every three months for the next two years before my oncologist will release me and I can go to six month check-ups. When the appointment approaches, I go into panic attack mode. I can't sleep for days before and I am constantly stewing about the actual day. There aren't words to describe the fear of the unknown. That's exactly what it is. The fear of the unknown.
I have been through so many CT scans, PET scans, bone scans, MRI's, biopsies, etc. You go in and lie down on a table that moves up and down while the machine does its job. What's there to be scared of? The tech turns down the bright, florescent lights to a dimly lit room for a calming effect I suppose. Although they are trying to make your experience a good one, there just isn't any way to take away the anxiety.
What takes away the anxiety? Good friends. My best friend on this God's green earth came with me and helped me by cracking jokes the entire time. I'm sure it isn't fun for anyone to accompany their friend to appointments and have to sit for countless hours waiting, however, Melanie didn't complain once. Well, that's not entirely true. She did complain about my driving, but we'll talk about that later.
My first scan of the day and I'm sitting in the "holding" area waiting to be pricked by yet another nurse. Correction, according to the tech, infusion team. Team? Really? How is it a team when there is only one member of the team on call for the entire hospital to come and access my port? I guess my first mistake was calling her a nurse, which she was by the way. I suppose it's no longer politically correct to refer to male and females as nurses anymore, they would rather be called a team. Okay, no big deal she's a member of a team. Of course, I tell Melanie about my mistake and she starts cracking jokes about the tech. Oh did I mention the tech was male. I guess I offended him. Never mind, I'm about to go into a room to determine if my cancer had returned or not.
It's not his fault really. If you think about it they do have a difficult job especially when these techs get rotated so much. How hard is it though to read a chart? "Have you ever had this done before"? Really? Can he not see my scar? Can he not tell that I have no boobs? "Uh, yes." I say. "Only about a half a dozen times." In his defense, maybe he has to ask that question. At the very least, he could have been more observant and say, "I noticed your chart and looks like you have done this before."
Finally, it's time for the scan. The CT scan is really no big deal as long as you're not claustrophobic. However, they can give you something for the anxiety beforehand to ease your nerves. Personally, I took an extra dose of happy pills that morning. If they are examining your chest area, you have to raise your arms above your head and lay there for about 20 minutes. Obviously, it's not a pleasant experience especially when your arms start to get tired, or your nose itches and you can't scratch it. If you do scratch your nose, then they have to start completely over. I did find a trick though and you can clasp your hands which helped me a whole lot.
After the CT scan was over, it was time for the PET scan. If you are having contrast dye, the tech comes in and prepares the port or the IV. The PET scan takes about 3 1/2 minutes, but if it were any longer, I'm not sure I could have handled it. The tech explains that for about 15 sec you feel like you have to pee. However, it's more than that. Your whole body heats up from the inside out to the point that you feel like you're going to scream and you're not going to make it through. All you want to do is jump up off the table and pull the port access out. Meanwhile, there is a techno type music playing in the background. I guess that's what the tech wanted to hear, because it was extremely annoying to me.
Finally, both scans are complete and I get to go home! Well, not home exactly, but I'm half-way done.