6. PET is for Petrified

The following Thursday, only 3 days later the telephone rung in the morning and it was a very chirpy lady called Linda who told me she was ringing to book me in for a PET scan at Norwich Hospital. We went through loads of questions and I told her about my uncle who had had a massive stroke whilst having a scan, and because of this we ( my mums side of the family) were always told to avoid dyes and scans etc. She was very nice but as usual non committal about my fears, but did at least say she would inform the scanning team of my concerns. Concerns they were, as the following day we were winging our way across Norfolk, to at the time, what I feared was my certain death. No one can prepare you for the out of body type experience you feel being shut in a tiny cubicle, with no windows, no one there with you, when a nurse stands metres away with a rubber encased ball of nuclear injection and its connected into a canula in your arm. For normal people, with no record of impending fatal consequence in the family, I would think its pretty un nerving. But for me I basically felt like I was sitting there thanking the woman for my own execution. I was resigned however to take it like a hero, and sit calmy and accept my fate, after all there wasn't really many options to this 'suck and see' exercise. When the radio active fluid entered my body I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and I just tried to console myself with the fact that if I did die or have a massive stroke like my uncle, at least I probably wouldn't have to go through the cancer treatment. There's always a silver lining as they say. The hour wait after the injection felt like a lifetime.

The first 10-15 ins was painful, in that I felt a rush of pressure in my top teeth both sides at the back like some invisible force was trying to push out the few molars I had left and the pressure in my teeth and ears were intensified by the fact from obviously being anxious I could feel and hear my own heart beat whooshing in my ears. I curled up in the upright recliner chair, stared at the clock and prayed I'd pass out and whatever was going to happen would happen quickly, and without me being too aware of it. I opened my eyes and stared at the clock... 25 mins had passed. They had told me to use the toilet and remove my bra, but I was frightened if I moved something would happen, but apart from feeling twitchy about being in a room with no windows and no escape I felt ok. I used the loo and just before the hour was up they came at took me into the scanning room.

'Hi, how are you ma'am, have you had a good week' the very large foreign gentleman asked me gesturing to lay on the scanning table. ' My cat died and I found out I have cancer'

His faced dropped, I love being so honest, people can't handle it. I walked across to him and placed my hand on his arm as I lifted one leg onto the bed, looked at him and smiled, 'its ok you weren't to know'. His face relaxed and he let out a deep relieved chuckle and quickly changed the subject by telling how to lay on the bed and how it wouldn't take long on his 'rollercoaster' and just lay still and enjoy the ride.

I laid down , he covered me with a blanket and left the room. Alone again. I started to get the feeling now most of this is going to be about being alone. The scanner started its gentle whooshing and the table slowly jerked backwards and forwards settling itself, and the rollercoaster began. I kept my eyes shut for what seemed like about 10 mins and when I felt a fan on face I knew at least part of me was out the other end of the scanner.

I opened my eyes slightly and looked up, to see a ceiling that had been decorated with tiles that looked like skylight windows with over shadowing tree branches, and on the end of the scanner a digital display efficiently counting down the seconds of the scan. I knew how long I had to go. I wasn't dead, I'd survived the dye, and now I just did what I was told, I laid back and enjoyed the rest of the ride.