Winding down: CT scan and a Port Flush chaser

     Over a period of ten months I've had Xrays, EEG's, bloodwork and CT scans.  Recently I had my first  CT scan post liver-surgery.   Three weeks after my last chemo session, Thursday February 3rd to be exact.  The scan was arranged by my Oncologist and I have high hopes that the results would favour my recovery.  Unfortunately I would need to wait two more weeks to meet with my Oncologist to find out the results.

     The CT procedure itself, while not common (I've now had four in my life dating back to 2006) was familiar.  An IV was placed in my left arm, it's purpose to introduce a contrast-dye.  The technician still remembered me from my days when I used to work in that particular hospital, many years prior.  This tenuous continuity  helped, comforting me in the belief that I was not a nameless unknown, but a person.

      As the exam continued the technician would instruct me to 'Take a deep breath and hold it ---- breathe normally.'   Several iterations of this process occurred, me doing deep breathing while the CT did its thing.  Just call me "Mr. Scan Man" (with apologies to the Andrew Sisters).   From start to finish the entire process felt like it was less than 15 minutes.  My IV was removed,  and I was free to go home.  And think of what might be found...

    I try not to think too much about the results, or what the future holds.  I concentrate on the immediate aspects of life,  which included a scheduled visit to the clinic for a routine IV Port flush the week after my CT scan.

    Routine Port flush.   A year ago I had never heard of a Port Flush.  Now watching my blood flowing out of me through a tube, only to be pushed back in  is now considered "routine".   During the past year there were a few quirks with my port flush i.e. no blood return.  My first port flush since my "final" chemo was problem-free.   I will need to continue these routine visits on a monthly basis, as long as the Port remains within me.  How long will that be depends of course on what my  Oncologist tells me.

    A week remains until my appointment with my Oncologist to discuss the results.  A week to conjure up wildly optimistic predictions.   A week to despair about wildly pessimistic predictions.  A week remaining until I can resume living my life.