I got up at the ass crack of dawn to have a light breakfast before 6 am. Nothing but water until mid-afternoon, when my scans were done.

The earliest appointment I could get was at St. Clair Hospital, which is near my house. They recently underwent a renovation to some of the building, which made today super convenient. We parked in a dedicated lot across a sidewalk from radiation/oncology, which was separate from the hospital.

After the tech explained the process — which didn’t include any disgusting drinks — I inquired whether I had to drink anything. He looked through the scripts to confirm before saying no. Something about a national shortage. Too bad, so sad.

Once he injected me with the dye, I had to sit still for an hour. Any muscle movement could influence how it spread through my body. I asked if I could read my Kindle, promising to barely use a finger to turn pages. He laughed but said no. At first Aaron and I thought we could talk, but they discourage talking (muscles and eye movements).

Who knew PET scans were discriminatory? A hearing person can listen to podcasts, music, or an audio book. I know you’re thinking I could just take advantage of this time to meditate, sleep, or pen the next bestseller in my head. Because I had no choice, I closed my eyes and tried to catch up on the sleep I missed this morning. After a few minutes, I had Aaron take out my hearing devices, because that’s how I’m used to sleeping and can’t tune out noise.

Reader, I did not sleep.

But I rested. I asked Aaron for the time twice: when I was halfway through and when I had 6 minutes to go. Pretty good on my part, no?

Aaron interpreted for me throughout by wearing his clear mask, including before and in between scans. We worked out a system for when the iodine contrast would be injected; the tech said she would double tap my wrist beforehand.

Another issue was when to hold my breath. I couldn’t see anyone when in the machine, nor could I see any machine lights or anything like that (which should be an accessibility feature!) to know when to do so. The tech said to breathe slowly and she would just watch my breathing and get the scans at the right times.

Thankfully I’m not claustrophobic, because some scans took a long time. I’ve had the iodine before; it’s weird. When they inject it, your whole body is suffused with warmth from top to bottom, from the inside out. When it makes its way down to your groin, it feels like you’re peeing. And whenever they flushed out the IV, I could smell and taste the saline. In and out of the machine I went, up a little more, up, up, stop, down…

Quite the sensory amusement park ride without the cotton candy perks!

Afterwards, I gobbled down a PB&J sandwich I’d packed as we drove to a walk-in pharmacy to get my bivalent booster. We had been advised to go right after the scan since lymph nodes can react to vaccines, leading to bad scans. Only one couple was ahead of me. I opted for Pfizer despite having had three Modernas, because I’ve experienced fast heartbeats after Moderna in the past. Hoping Pfizer will be kinder.

Aaron got his booster this morning, Samara’s getting hers shortly, and Doran has to wait until later this fall since he recently had COVID. If history is any indication, tomorrow will be a day of feeling under the weather. My brain is already telling me this will be a precursor for what’s to come.

Scan results should be in Monday or Tuesday.