radioactive isotopes

yesterday kinda sucked.  everything was going smoothly at first:  they injected me with a radioactive tracer (dopamine isotope), which apparently lights up in the presence of cancer.  (is that the first time i’ve written the word cancer?  it seems like a heavy, almost-taboo word, at least for someone my age.  i can’t decide which is worse — cancer or brain tumor.  maybe i’ll get used to them both, eventually.  i guess i’ll have to.)  i asked the pharmacologist who injected me with the dopamine isotope if i’d turn into a superhero.  he responded that although they’re still working out the kinks in the superpower isotope, i would need a letter from my doctor if i intended to fly in the next 24 hours — just so i wouldn’t be arrested on suspicion of nuclear terrorism.  you know, everyday, run-of-the-mill stuff.

it was after the radioactivity and the PET scan that things went a little downhill.  the MRI tech botched the IV for the contrast dye profusion…twice.  when i told him that he seemed less-than-confident about the proceedings, he had the audacity to tell me, “actually, i’m just not confident about your veins.”  i let him know that he was relieved from duty and if he could please have someone else do the IV, that would be lovely.  thanks.  once i was finally inside the MRI machine, i could feel the dye rushing through my veins.  it felt like a mini version of the big hydroelectric generator we saw on our camping trip to huntington lake a couple months ago.

i was inside the MRI machine longer than i’ve ever been before.  they placed a plastic cage-like piece over my face and locked it into place.  i found myself thinking about winston smith and the rats.  fortunately, brain MRIs are not my greatest fear.  i was wondering, though, what would happen if there was an earthquake.  perhaps the MRI machine is one of the safest places to be.  on the other hand, would i be able to undo the lock on the face cage?  i wished that there were in-case-of-emergency instructions written in size 8 font on the little mirror that allowed me to see out of the machine.  so i’d be able to get out if there was an earthquake.

bang!thump!drone.hum. the inner workings of the MRI sounded like machines on the war path — or, maybe, on a lighter note, the soundtrack to wall-e and eva’s first dance.

i was inside the MRI machine longer than i’ve ever been before because they had to do a highly detailed scan of my brain.  tomorrow, when i have my biopsy, the neurosurgeon will plug my brain’s coordinates into his computer to map the exact spots from which he’ll extract samples.  pretty high-tech stuff.  i feel fortunate to have such advanced technology on my side — but i also think about what other technology is waiting around the corner that could make the process simpler, easier, more effective.  the grass is greener around the corner.

other tests, too, yesterday — chest x-ray, EKG, blood work — which resulted in my finally knowing my blood type (O positive), something i’ve always passively wondered about.  it is better to give than to receive.  or so i’ve heard.

i’m off to bed.  biopsy at 8am tomorrow.  wish me (and the neurosurgeon) luck!

Advertisements

7 thoughts on “radioactive isotopes

  1. I do wish you luck, and I think we’d all agree you’ve got the clarity and strength to handle each day, one day at a time. Let us know how we can help, will be sending out good thoughts.

  2. Hang in ther girl! I’m a cancer survivor too. Not anything like yours, just uterine. But I’m older so the hysdirectomy was no loss. I know the numbeness you feel whith every appointmet, Dr., MRI, bopsy, ect. It can be very overwhelming. I will put you on my prayer chain at my church and with others accross the county. May the light of the LORD shine upon you now and always.

  3. Naomi i know you dont know me and i have never seen or met u but I live in Los Luans New Mexico and your Dad goes into the resturant i run and talk with ur dad, he is an amzing man with his little brown bag of chile and tomaotes and he has to be one of my favorite customers, and gentleman i have come across. I have a little girl, Lolah and no matter what he always takes the time to ask for her and see how she is doing so i share stories with him about her so i always do about you and ur brother. So when he gave me the adress and shared you blog with me i got on right away and just love to read ur blog and it has brought me to tears everytime ive read it and just cant get u out my my head so i just want to reach out and let u know that u are such a strong brave and amazing woman and my prayers are with u and ur family!!!!!!

Share your thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s