My Journey With Cancer 2
As I am waiting outside the scanning room, I look around. One woman is in red from head to toe, napping in her wheelchair. Another is in a faint blue 'dera', reading a large-print of Taifa Leo.
Once again my name is shouted from down the corridor, only now, I am not tensed or nervous. I walk into the room and smile at Daudi, who asks me to settle on the bench. An IV is inserted in the crook of my arm and I am afterwards asked to drink two big cups of gross-tasting liquid contrast that somehow goes down my gullet and lights up my belly for the abdominal scan. It is not tasty. I always hoped that the labels on the cups would provide a clue as to exactly what this concoction is, but alas, that hope was not to be recognized.
After the hour that I am given to drink this vile stuff, I am called to the scanning room. It is freezing in here. Daudi makes my day by giving me a warm blanket and tells me to lie on the narrow "bed" of the CT scan machine. Once covered, a female nurse, whom I have never seen before, comes in and tells me to pull my jeans down to my knees - under the blanket - so the zipper and button don't interfere with the scan. The machine starts to clicking and whirring, and Daudi asks me to raise my arms above my head and stretch them out as much as I can with the IV inserted then leaves with the nurse. The room is now quiet except for the chugging of the machine and my heavy breathing.
After several cycles, Daudi comes back in to push the contrast dye into my IV for the chest scan. This has a strange side effect of a gross, warm sensation similar to wetting your pants. For this IV, I literally felt needle entering my vein, but after eleven months of needle sticks, I am not as freaked out as I used to be. After two hours or so of breathing in and out, Daudi comes back in to remove my IV, and I'm all done. I felt a bit wobbly from all that junk injected and ingested by my body.
Let me tell you; The fasting, needle sticks, gross drinks, those are the easy part. The hard part, is the waiting. Waiting to hear what shows up on the scan. No matter, I'm out of here, blowing off the stink of the hospital as fast as I can. The next time I shall be back, would be to get my results. For now, I am going enjoy my peace and serenity until then.
Once again my name is shouted from down the corridor, only now, I am not tensed or nervous. I walk into the room and smile at Daudi, who asks me to settle on the bench. An IV is inserted in the crook of my arm and I am afterwards asked to drink two big cups of gross-tasting liquid contrast that somehow goes down my gullet and lights up my belly for the abdominal scan. It is not tasty. I always hoped that the labels on the cups would provide a clue as to exactly what this concoction is, but alas, that hope was not to be recognized.
After the hour that I am given to drink this vile stuff, I am called to the scanning room. It is freezing in here. Daudi makes my day by giving me a warm blanket and tells me to lie on the narrow "bed" of the CT scan machine. Once covered, a female nurse, whom I have never seen before, comes in and tells me to pull my jeans down to my knees - under the blanket - so the zipper and button don't interfere with the scan. The machine starts to clicking and whirring, and Daudi asks me to raise my arms above my head and stretch them out as much as I can with the IV inserted then leaves with the nurse. The room is now quiet except for the chugging of the machine and my heavy breathing.
After several cycles, Daudi comes back in to push the contrast dye into my IV for the chest scan. This has a strange side effect of a gross, warm sensation similar to wetting your pants. For this IV, I literally felt needle entering my vein, but after eleven months of needle sticks, I am not as freaked out as I used to be. After two hours or so of breathing in and out, Daudi comes back in to remove my IV, and I'm all done. I felt a bit wobbly from all that junk injected and ingested by my body.
Let me tell you; The fasting, needle sticks, gross drinks, those are the easy part. The hard part, is the waiting. Waiting to hear what shows up on the scan. No matter, I'm out of here, blowing off the stink of the hospital as fast as I can. The next time I shall be back, would be to get my results. For now, I am going enjoy my peace and serenity until then.
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