Sex and the CT (scan)

Well there wasn't actually any sex, or if there was it wasn't happening to me. So I'm sorry if I piqued your interest with the promise of a saucy romp but I was stuck for a title... if on the other hand it was the CT scan that put the hook in you then you're in the right place.

I had the CT scan on Friday to determine the response of the tumour to the chemotherapy, the body count if you will to go back to the war on tumour analogy.

If you haven't had a go at a CT scan before the way it generally works is you begin by drinking a contrast solution. Normally this is a fairly clear liquid that tastes a bit like the stuff the dentist makes you rinse with. However at the Base (Public hospital in Ballarat for those of you not from around here) they favour a viscous, white, occasionally lumpy solution, 300 mls of it to be precise. The idea is to consume it over about an hour by knocking back a glassful every 10 minutes.

I'm up to my 4th glass when my throat decides we've had enough. It closes up every time I take a sip, normally I can get it down fairly easily but the chemo queasiness is adding an extra dimension today. I try mind over matter making chocolate milkshake my mantra and I'm halfway through when my esophagus realises it's been tricked and spasms violently. Some of it comes out my nose while I the rest of it runs down my chin. I believe this is what's known in the adult film industry as the money shot.

I'm wiping my face with my sleeve (the only other options being a tattered copy of Time or the carpet) when an older couple join me in the waiting room. We get chatting and they turn out to be really nice, the kind of people I might even hang out with except it would be quite weird. She's just been diagnosed with some kind of cancer (I forget which) and so we chat about nausea, hair loss and all sorts of groovy things stopping only to raise our glasses and chug.

All too soon I'm summoned to put on a gown, for some reason there's an almost full length mirror in the change room. I take a moment to appraise my look, bald head, backless gown, odd socks and know that if I saw me coming the other way down the hall I'd avoid eye contact.

The CT scanner is a donut shaped machine with a sort of bed that moves in and out. I hop on with an air of nonchalance I don't really feel and make small talk with the nurse while she sticks a needle into my arm. She injects a syringe of saline into the needle to make sure she's hit the vein and explains that if they accidentally inject the tracer dye into the arm and not the vein "it really hurts and for a long time".

Satisfied she's in the right spot she starts the tracer dye running, tells me to lie still and leaves. It's an odd sensation as the tracer runs through your system, you taste it in the back of your throat first then a warm flush runs through your body. It sort of feels like you've wet yourself and it takes a fair bit of restraint to lie still and not check.
The inside of the donut then starts spinning, the bed goes in, "hold your breath", the bed moves slowly out and "breathe away". Then it's out with the needle, off the bed, back on with the trousers and the job's done.

I spend Saturday night playing poker and drinking beer with the fellas, nothing takes you're mind off things like gambling and alcohol I always say. Sunday I'm a bit seedy and after lunching with friends I spend the rest of the day in bed with a book about Nazis my Grandpa got for me at trash and treasure.

Monday starts with a blood test and then I head up to oncology to get the results of the scan. I've brought the Nazi book with me only realising later that the combination of the swastika on the back and my bald head might lead some people to leap to conclusions...

Then I get the result, a good one. The tumour is quite a lot smaller than it was prior to treatment. Originally measuring 3.5 x 2.3 cm it's now down to 2.2 x 0.8 cm, I read through the examination report myself, the words "Reduction in left external iliac lymph nodal mass" have never sounded so sweet!

I was also supposed to have a chemo session Monday but when my blood test results show my white cells are too low I end up getting Monday and Tuesday off. I know a low white cell count is not actually a good thing and I'll have to make the days up later but hey I'm up for the days off! I'm sort of hoping they're still too low tomorrow because I'm supposed to go and enrol for uni.

So that's the story so far, I'm really pleased with the results but there's still more work to be done and I'll hold off on the celebrations till it's finished. Who knows maybe I'll celebrate on an aircraft carrier in front of a large "Mission accomplished" banner or maybe I'll let the war on tumour analogy go and celebrate with my friends and family. We'll see.

Jez