You know, it’s hard not to become obsessive about your health when every day you have things to monitor, numbers to process, and countless tests to get done. Really, I do not want to have to dwell on cancer, lung disease and diabetes but in order to keep things under control, you HAVE to monitor the numbers and take drugs and treatments accordingly.
So, today I headed to Ironwood Cancer and Research Center in Mesa for my PET scan. This was try number three, and let me tell you, every morsel that went into my mouth for a WEEK was eaten with this scan in mind. After two tries and two misses, I wasn’t going to miss THIS ONE. As soon as I got out of the shower this morning, I checked my glucose. My pink Ultra Mini, which of the two of my glucometers tends to read higher, said that I was at 112. WoooHOOOO!
I felt much more confident on the drive out to Ironwood. There was NO WAY they were going to tell me my glucose was too high THIS TIME! Of course, just in case, I took both of MY glucometers with me. J Nothing like a little insurance, I say.
I had the same tech this time, and he was a peach. He was thrilled when his meter showed 144. Yeah, see, the meters over there really run high. But I didn’t care, as long as it was well under 200. He got my IV going; apparently you can’t put the radioactive glucose through your port, darnit. But he did a FINE job with that IV, and then got me a heated blanket, and I just kinda dozed there for a hour while the radiation had fun searching for evil things within my body.
And suddenly, I started visualizing the irradiated glucose as Pac Man and the Ghosts, chasing all over my body’s grid, and were they ever getting annoyed, as they could find NOTHING! After my hour of sitting quietly with only Pac Man and his pals as my entertainment, it was time to head into the giant donut of despair. (It’s not that horrible, I just like alliteration.)
If the last PET Scanner was quiet, this one was a complete mute. One thing I will say about the equipment at Ironwood: It’s top-notch, as are the people. Still, you have to lie on that unrelenting slab of what looks like black glass, with only a lift under your knees. This is supposed to be beneficial to your lumbar area, and it certainly helps, but WOW, when it was time to get OFF the table, I could barely move. The scan itself took about twenty minutes and thanks to my Xanax, I was fine, mostly. I really, really hate being in tubes, even if they are mostly donuts. This donut was THICK! Hence, quite a length of ME was within the donut hole.
Happily, while being scanned, I reconnected with Pac Man and the boys and they continued their fruitless frolic about my body. Now, let’s hope this visualization stuff does some good. I had fun with it, actually. I’m looking forward to the next Herceptin treatment, where I may just exchange my Apache Attack Helicopters for Pac Man. :)
Love to all, be safe, enjoy life!