Ready, Set, Glow!

After lunch with a lovely woman on Wednesday, dinner with friends on Thursday and another group on Friday night, I underwent a bone scan yesterday.  It was a half-day procedure and in the end I was given a card to show at the border or airport should I be travelling in the next seven days, as I am radioactive and will set off national security alarms.  I almost feel like just driving across the border to see the excitement!  The test began with Lori taking me to the hospital to be injected with radioactive dye.  She assured me everything would be okay.  Knowing I was afraid of needles, she came into the two-by-two office with me while I was injected with the dye.  I held out my right arm, ready for the needle, closed my eyes and asked how the nurse knew I was a typist.  She had said, "Tight fist".  We all laughed and it was over by the end of the clarification.

I was told to go away and return three hours later.  I was directed to drink fluids until I came back to help the dye through my system and get the best possible result.  Good thing this was a morning appointment because water may not have been my "fluid" of choice had it been in the evening.  So I went home and drank a few gallons of water determined to not have to repeat the test.  It was kind of like before an ultrasound when I was late in my pregnancies and was asked to drink buckets of water and then hold it while the technician pushed on my bladder with all her weight, challenging me not to pee.  Well, that's how it felt anyway.  At least this time I was allowed to pee when needed.

Tracey did part two of the driving and we returned to the hospital.  About halfway there, I realized I was about to explode but we weren't near a washroom when the urge was, well, urgent.  So while she parked the car, I did the "don't pee my pants dance".  I felt like a little girl trying not to pee in my panties.  Or I suppose more like an adult who wished she'd worn a Depends.  After "wiggling" my way through the hospital corridors, I found a washroom and could have sung out loud at the pure relief.

The technician came to get me and directed me to a surface about a foot wide and asked me to lie down on it.  She strapped my arms to the sides of my body and taped my "toes together, heels apart".  I closed my eyes, as the machine came right to the tip of my nose and then made its way down my body slowly, taking 20 minutes to go from head to taped toes.  Then I was told to place my arms over my head while the machine scanned my ribs from the sides.  Test completed, I was dismissed and literally ran to the washroom once more.

I asked if I would glow in the dark and the technician who conducted the scan only laughed.  Not sure what that meant.  Yes?  No?  Will I glow?

All day, I felt strange, a little dizzy but able to function enough to get groceries, supplies and go for lunch with Tracey.  Being my organizational self, I decided to put together an emergency kit, including an easy-to-read thermometer to check for the possibility of a fever, antibiotic ointment in case of cuts to stop infection, baking soda to brush my teeth with while I have mouth sores and rubber gloves to keep my hands safe from cleaners while my fingernails are weakened.  I'm determined to keep them on the ends of my fingers!

I came home, lay down for a nap but couldn't sleep.  After dinner, it was all I could do to stay awake to watch my Canucks win.  I slept for eight straight hours, which I haven't done in years.  I guess being radioactive isn't so bad after all.  I wonder, though, if I kept my neighbours awake wondering where that strange glow was coming from.