PET Scan

My friend picked my up at the apartment right on time with her car all warm and toasty. I have done everything I can to ensure that the test results will be clear. No caffeine, no carbs, no alcohol, no aspirin products, nothing by mouth except drink 2 glasses of water (Kiel said they might as well throw in no firearms!) etc. etc. Stay warm, no physical exercise. I went down the checklist. Everything followed to the letter.

Once again, my agitation about the dye thing crops up and I try not to fuss about it. My friend reassures me that it will be fine. She reminds me that I have a mouth and I can use it! Check in at registration, fill out a form (the receptionist hands me a copy of the form I filled out last time for reference), wait a few minutes.

They call me back, I double check about the dye thing, I am reassured. No dye. I remind them of the need for a small needle, they say thanks for the reminder. The usual stick to check sugar levels, I bleed all over. Am I taking Coumadin? No. The aspirin regimen. Here comes the IV. What's this? They have no trouble finding a vein. Needle is in first stick no problem. Neat! That Lance Armstrong Y program must be helping more than I thought.

I lean back in the recliner, swaddled in the toasty warmth of three blankets and sigh. The lights are dim, the door shut. All I hear is the ticking of the clock. I am not tired enough to sleep - they should do these tests in the evening if they want sleep. I decide to take my own medicine.

I write Prescriptions for the cancer patients who receive the digital picture frames with the Lord's Prayer, Psalm 23, and Amazing Grace on them. I prescribe taking three times a day - in the morning on rising, in the afternoon after lunch, and in the evening before retiring. Think on the words that have seen so many through difficulties and pain. Build up your heart and mind for the barren places. I don't have the luxury of being allowed to view pictures, but I can think on the words.

Funny how your mind will not stay on track sometimes. I have been particularly interested lately in meditations on the Lord's Prayer as written by notable spiritual leaders of the past - Martin Luther and John Wesley and Tertullian and others. So I begin - "Our Father" and immediately I recognize that it is not "My Father" and that I am not alone. I have a huge family of sisters and brothers who support me with their prayers and good blessings. And I begin thinking about my Mom and my sister Jael and my friends who have stayed so connected with me throughout this cancer battle.

Rats. Off track. I begin again. "Our Father" and I start thinking about all the things the word father can bring to mind. Off track again. Start over. "Our Father which art in heaven." So what is heaven like anyways? I recall some dreams I have had, some verses of the Bible that talk about streets of gold and no pain or crying there. Wait. I am supposed to be praying the Lord's Prayer. "Our Father . . . " Too soon the nurse pokes her head in the door. It is time for the test.

More new stuff. They take the IV out before I go in the tubes. So much better not to have to be careful about how to position your hand. And they have a special pillow that relieves the stress on your arms. You still have to put your arms over your head, but not all the way down to the table. Only part way back. Sooooooo much better.

I continue my attempts to pray the Lord's Prayer, knowing that the test will take a good half hour in and out of the tubes. I still do not get to the end before they whirr me out and set me free. Same instructions. You are radioactive, don't hug any puppies or babies. Don't get close to people for at least two hours, double flush after using the facilities, and make sure you wash your hands thoroughly.

Yes. I got it. I wonder if the Lance Armstrong program will help with the tiredness and fatigue that usually hit me a week or so after the test? Maybe!