Typically, the hardest thing about radiology testing was confirming insurance gave its approval on time. I always imagined my insurance company like a king holding court, dubbing which of us peasants were worthy enough for a CT scan. Early on, getting the proper orders with the proper codes and proper signatures was also difficult. I learned if I asked for a paper copy of the order and brought it myself, I could prevent quite a few reschedules.
On days when:
1. The paperwork was right
2. The prescribing doctor’s office could be reached to confirm various details
3. Insurance blessed the test #BlessThisTest
4. The machines remained functional
the appointments were straight forward. Routine to the point I would get excited if my favorite locker were available to hold my belongings while being scanned.
Before any imaging started though, the appropriate waivers were signed indicating no, I was not pregnant. They almost always needed a urine sample to confirm anyway.
Most often with testing, I would get two rounds of images each time, first without contrast and second with contrast dye. Contrast dye is like using a highlighter over the first round of images to show different tissues more clearly. Contrast dye also tasted like pennies and gave me panic attacks that I peed my pants right there on the mechanical table.
The nurse had told me it was normal to feel like I may be urinating during the test, but I wouldn’t be, it was just a side effect of the dye and not to worry. I worried. I had overhydrated for the pregnancy test and to help get the IV in my tiny veins. My bladder was pretty full. What if I had the sensation of urinating initially, and that triggered me to actually urinate? Does urine show up on x-rays? What if my pee was running down wires and computer bits rendering this mechanical table useless? I am pretty sure I don't even have mechanical-table kind of money if they sue me to replace it.
“And, we’re done,” the nurse said through a microphone. She had been operating the whole test from a separate room with a giant window. There, she could see me and protect herself from excessive radiation exposure at the same time. I only got the tiniest Twilight Zone vibe when the door closed behind her and it was just me and the machines. Machines that made sounds that I interpreted as an angry robot revolution manifesto. If there was ever a time I felt compassion for E.T., it was lying on a table, inside a tube, without my glasses, being peered at through a zoo window while I was potentially becoming incontinent.
As soon as the test was over, I checked and I was elated I wouldn’t have to figure out some clothing contraption after all! It had been a lifetime since I congratulated myself on not having an accident, and I really got the hankering for a dum dum lollipop and a gold sticker on a chart. I left the exam room, dressed, then waited patiently for a copy of the images to bring to my next doctor appointment.
The medical team who took the scans do not give out results. But they had given me a CD with the results. All the answers could be on the disc I held. I wished that this test would show something abnormal so the testing could stop. Test after test, I wished for horrible things. Things like cancer. Anything. Not knowing the cause of my symptoms meant I could not put together an action plan. How could I fight something I could not identify? How much longer could this go on?
With all the “Edward Snowden” I could muster, I slid the CD into my laptop. I waited patiently. Nothing happened. Google search was zero help. After a few more tries, I put the cd away and closed all the open browser tabs filled with images of strangers’ scans in various stages of health.
Finally, the appointment date arrived. My doctor popped in the CD with no difficulty. My unsuccessful attempts seemed not to have impacted anything as images filled the screen. I inhaled deeply, examined a dark section that definitely seemed like cancer. I was bright red for the rest of the appointment after my doctor explained we were all huddled around a screen looking at pictures of stool, not cancer. I was given the familiar, infuriating results.
The findings of this test are unremarkable.
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