The Roller Coaster Effect

Yesterday, as the bone scan was ending, I asked to see the pictures. I rarely admit to being a geek, but I guess I am. All of this technology is pretty cool. But, of course, I was also impatient and wanted to see for myself, right away, if I could see anything abnormal on the pictures.

After the initial shock of how wide my hips looked in the picture, my sister and I both noted quickly the 2 glowing spots on my chest. There is an off hand remark about that being my tumor on the right side of the body - and the technician says "No, that's the left side of the body." My sister and I look at each other with dread. Oh crap!

The tech tries to tell us that it is probably nothing - "See, it isn't on the ribs or any other bone." All my brain is hearing is "Crap, crap, crap!" He checks with the guy who actually reads the scans and, no big surprise, he wants another close up of the left chest area.

Kevin happens to call Karen during this time frame - and she tells him about the spots on the left. But she tries to calm him with her own story of a spot they found on her pelvis during one of these years ago. They made her do all sorts of extra testing (and panic), only to realize that it was probably some bone abnormality that had been there from birth. My brain is still only saying "Crap, crap, crap!"

After a few minutes, the tech walks in - almost laughing "You are fine! Did you get your injection of the radioactive isotopes in your left arm?" Yes. "Did you take your sweater off and on since then?" Yes. "Then you probably just got a few of the isotopes on the outside of your sweater, come look."

We go back to the computer screen, and there is the outline curve of my breast with 2 glowing spots hovering above it. "See, on the outside - on the sweater - you are fine."

Panic attack over. Stop the ride, I want to get off.