Tuesday, 7 June 2011

Test Week

My phone rang. It was the hospital again. Not including a stack of blood tests, I was booked in for a CT scan, bone scan and mammogram.

This was the most eventful of the tests. I was given cordial flavoured radioactive liquid which I had to drink over an hour. It tasted so good. I hadn't had any kind of sugar for a while... The room was full and when it came for my turn to have the cannula in there was no bed for me. I was brave though and the nurse and I laughed that it was mostly the big tough guys that fainted. The cannula was in and I was instructed to sit and wait for my turn. Oh, did I mention that the nurse instructed me not to move my arm because the needle would move around. Is she for real? That is something that nurses say to each other because needles are normal for them! A needle may wiggle around in my arm? I was so scared to move my arm. The clock slowed, seriously, and my arm was dead from lack of movement. Something strange happened then. I got all woozy. I turned to the husband and asked him to get some help because I felt faint. But with the husband gone, I now felt worse. The young girl, who was accompanying her mum who I had befriended at some happier point in this waiting room, turned to ask if I was ok. All I remember was staring at her and wanting to talk to her, but I was frozen. Both my arms pulled up (hands to shoulders), my tongue was hanging out (or so the husband tells everyone) and the room was spinning. I do remember the husband, in a panic, telling me to bring my arms down because the needle was now being pushed further into my vein. A rush of wheels and some helpful nurses got me onto a bed. I was given oxygen and my vitals were checked. It took a while for me to come around and my laughter eventually calmed the husband enough for him to stop mentally planning for my funeral. I wasn't going to die. I was just causing a scene. The CT scan then followed quite quickly. I'm sure they wanted to get the freak show out of their waiting room. The donut-like machine did it's job, I was sent home and now I was one test closer to the operation.

Again, my body was exposed to some radioative fluid. I was able to relax while another donut-like machine swooshed and took pictures. The most scary part of this procedure was how close the big square of metal came to my face. I have to admit, there was a moment, just a tiny one, where I felt as though the machine may just squash me. It didn't. The sensor detected I was there and stopped 1cm from the tip of my nose.

I am not meant to meet this machine until I am 50. And, here I was. Those of you who have been lucky enough to be stuck in a room with this flattening device will know very well what followed. For those of you under 50, (or over 50 and a chicken), you will be amazed at how flat your breast can be squashed. Oh, and they can be squashed sideways too. And if you are very careful you even get to have a look. Yuck. Weirdest thing ever. It certainly gives a good pinch under your arms.

With all of these tests carried out I played the waiting game again. Would they come back clear? My thoughts were more focused on the removal of the lump. I didn't ever let these test results bother me. I just felt as though they would be ok.

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