I had another CT scan this year, my second since I finished my chemo back in January of 2011. The actual test was on Sept. 8th, the day after my monthly, oh-so-routine Port Flush.
A Port Flush is simply a way to ensure that the IVPort embedded in my chest is still functional. It consists of a sterilizing swabbing of the port area, a saline rinse and pulling back some blood, which is then promptly returned. Basically this ensures that this plumbing will do what is necessary if chemo is again required. It's a 15 minute job if all goes well. Fifteen minutes later I had another needle pick to add to my growing collection. Six more and I get a free tattoo ... I am fortunate that I suffer no bruising. My only discomfort is when I peel the bandage off the next day....a hairy chest and sticky bandages do not mix well! If the Port Flush is the opening act, lets hope the main event is just as easy.
Some of my CT scans in the past have required that I drink 'Reddi Cat' a beverage that is supposed to enhance the CT process and has all the flavour of chalk. Fortunately this visit did not require that particular "treatment". The CT scan is not of itself invasive, but it does have a component where a contrast dye is introduced during the process. In order to do that at the appropriate time, you are prepared with an IV, in my case it was just near the crook of my left arm. More needle pricks, more bandages and more hair (actually: less) fun later. After the IV lock is installed, I am led to the CT room and asked to lay on the gantry that serves as my entry into the eye of the CT storm.
The CT process has me on my back, feet towards the CT scanner and my arms stretched out over my head. I keep my eyes closed as the scan commences. I'm told to hold my breath during parts of the scan. The contrast is introduced at some point, and I feel my ears and back of my neck get really warm. The contrast is working. One other little side effect, the warmth affected me lower down so I thought I was going to soil myself. Fortunately this feeling subsided as quickly as it began, and my dignity remained intact. My scan now complete, I'm led back to the alcove where a tech removes my IV lock.
While the lock is being removed another employee shows up; she remembers me from when I worked in IT for this hospital some twenty years prior. I entered the Hospital as a patient undergoing a procedure. I leave the Hospital as a person, and I take with me the memory of smiles and happiness from former coworkers as they express their delight in my recovery.
So now it's been two weeks since my exam. I was anxious the first few days, but the old adage "No News Is Good News" seems to apply here. Barring anything extraordinary, I am not scheduled to see any of my doctors until the end of November. Back to "routine" once more. Maybe I'll arrive home from work some evening and there will be a message from the Oncologist wanting to discuss my results. Despite this possibility, I don't feel like a cancer patient any more. Life has gone on, and I'm still going with it.
