Meltdown

I don't know why this PET scan should be any different from the dozens I have undergone in the past, but it is. It started when the Imaging Center called to tell me that I needed to be pre-medicated due to my allergy to the IV contrast. Wait! I have had nearly a dozen PET scans done there in that facility in the past two years, and I remind them every time I have one that I not only am allergic to the contrast, but the pre-medication is ineffective in stemming the reactions I have. I have been told by my anaesthesiologist not to allow anyone to administer the dye even with the pre-meds. Did they forget? Did they even look at the huge RED stickers plastered all over my chart?



The voice mail shakes me up. The second voice mail from the oncologist's office asking for the name of my pharmacy didn't help me either. I would have expected the doctor to know my situation. Surely she remembers, after all, I see her almost every month! I procrastinate responding to either message. Maybe if I ignore it, things will revert to my state of normal. I know better. I just don't want to deal with it.

At last I call the Imaging Center. I explain that I am returning their call, but the receptionist has no idea what I am talking about. She routes me to several different voices until at last I find someone who knows the story. I patiently explain that even with pre-medication I have had severe reactions to the IV contrast and that I have been instructed not to undergo administration of it again. She ruffles papers for a minute or so, then cheerfully agrees with me.

"Yes, I see it now. Its clearly written right here - no IV contrast. Not to worry, we'll just do the PET part without the IV stuff." I want to smack her upside the head for riling me up without realizing how her lack of paying attention has caused me angst. But I resist. Surely everything is set now. Except I know that I still have to talk with the oncologist's nurse.

I sigh and find the number. Once again I am routed throughout the kingdom until someone finally knows what I am responding to. But this nurse is testy with me. "I can't just cancel that order until I speak with the doctor." I ask if she is looking at my chart and if she sees the red stickers plastered all over it. My question does nothing to dissuade her from her course. She will call me back. Click.

OK. Fine. I stew for a few minutes, then decide to focus on something more pleasant. Several hours later she calls me to tell me that the doctor has cancelled the order for the IV contrast and the barium with contrast. I will have the plain barium and the radiation glucose with contrast, doctor's orders. I am stunned. I begin to protest, to ask if that is what I have been having, but the woman has no time for my fear. "I TOLD the doctor exactly what you said and that's what she ordered." End of conversation. Goodbye.

I do a nose dive tail spin crash land. No! No contrast. I will die the next time I get that stuff. I won't go. I won't take it. I will simply refuse. Or maybe I should just let them give it to me, and when I die my kids can sue them royally - oh, wait. Aren't you getting just a bit carried away? Are you really that untrusting and paranoid? Shouldn't you find out the truth first?

Yes, of course. Nothing bad is going to happen here. You have a brain and you will use it and speak up until you know the story. Take a deep breath. You haven't come this far for one little snafu to do you in. Besides, you have a lot of stuff to do before you kick off.

Knowing all that doesn't prevent the tears from flowing. I haven't cried about medical stuff in awhile. I should be used to gazing over the precipice of life by now. I am required to do so everytime they run this test. But I am not used to it. I don't think I ever will be. The tears fall quietly for a few minutes as I work it out. Its OK for me to cry. I have post-traumatic stress syndrome brought on by cancer. These things happen.