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  • Debbie Murphy

Another Day, Another Scan

The date is 8th May and my destination Queens Hospital, Burton to have a CT scan. I’m not 100% sure when my last one was although I know I opted out at 12 months as I’d had 3 in close succession. I’d also had numerous XRays and a bone scan so figured I had been radiated quite enough and would soon glow in the dark. I’m now just over 2 years on from kidney cancer and this CT has been requested following the lumps being found in my breast and my lymph nodes being raised. The fact I’m still in remission has obviously played a part in the consultant deciding I need a full body scan again. This time I didn’t protest. This is my first CT at Burton, previous scans were at Heartlands before I opted to move hospital but I’ve visited the unit with my Mom before. I hadn’t long booked in when I was called to go for blood tests, they need to make sure my lonesome kidney is functioning well and can cope with the dye I’m going to have pumped through me. Next I’m seated in the scan waiting area and given a bottle of water with an iodine solution to drink which apparently helps show up my ‘hollow areas’… I have an hour to drink this taking small sips every 10 minutes, the time passes quickly as I’m listening to various stories of why other patients are here. By the time I’m called I’m bursting for a wee but not allowed to go obviously, this explains why everyone who’s exited the scanning room heads straight for the toilet, this is not easy on your bladder! I forget to ask but presume my kidney is doing ok as they prepare to insert the canular in my arm. CT scans don’t require you wear a gown so I’m in leggings and a vest top and being me I am typically cold which must be apparent as I’m offered a blanket. Just my arm is out for the venflon to be inserted and then both arms have to be raised above my head. The first ‘go’ through the tunnel is without dye and I hear the familiar ‘Breathe in and hold it….now breath out’ as the whirry tunnel takes me through. After a couple of ‘goes’ I’m out again on the conveyor and the radiographer puts the dye through the venflon and reminds me of the sensation that you’re weeing. I’m secretly praying I’m not because that sensation is so real. Another couple of goes and I’m back out and can climb from under my blanky and head for the loo, all done. As I leave I get the nods and smiles from those still waiting and a couple of ‘hope all is ok’s’ which is when I start thinking less about my bladder and more about why I’m there, Sh*t I hope it is ok.

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