I was too sick with bronchitis last Thursday when the PET scan was originally scheduled, so it's rescheduled for today at 12:30 p.m. at Huntsman Cancer Institute.
It's a beautiful building with amazing materials and gorgeous stone that high on the mountainside behind Primary Childrens and the University of Utah hospitals. Just walking in seems like entering a place of authority that knows what it's doing and calm assurance.
I get to third floor radiology and am almost immediately taken back for the PET scan.
Whoops, but my port isn't accessed and the technicians haven't been trained how to access ports. Weird, because I swear that last time, they accessed it okay.
But they have to find someone else that can access ports, so I'm wheeled off to mammography or the breast health department (trying to balance a large oxygen tank and it's cart on top of the arm rests) that's just down the hallway.
I'm amazed to watch as the nurse in the lab has to use sterile technique to access the port and even comment about it. It's interesting to see the different protocols that different medical facilities use, because Dr. Wendy's clinic (which is part of Huntsman Cancer Institute) doesn't use sterile technique, just a fresh pair of gloves to access my port.
The port is successfully accessed, so I'm wheeled back to radiology where the radioactive isotope is injected and the long waiting period begins.
The lights are dimmed, I'm covered with two warm blankets, and I proceed to rest quietly (without moving) for 75 minutes. I'm getting pretty good at accounting for the passage of time because just about when I think it's been 75 minutes, the doors open and I'm whisked off to the CT/PET machine.
No oral or IV contrast, and the scans are complete in about 35 minutes.
I'm free for the rest of the day. Well, as free as I can be with a walking boot on my left foot and dragging a large oxygen tank and its cart behind me. I even manage to snag a fun size Twix bar from the valet attendants that's left over from Easter (because I've been fasting since 6 a.m. and it's now after 3:00 p.m.).
Now to drive back home.
Purple Everywhere
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Showing posts with label oral and IV contrast. Show all posts
Showing posts with label oral and IV contrast. Show all posts
Monday, April 1, 2013
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
CT Scans and Contrast
It's the day before my CT scan is scheduled, so I have to pick up oral contrast to drink tonight and tomorrow morning before the scan.
On my drive over to Central Utah Clinic's (CUC) Imaging Department, I start thinking about all of the radiologic scans I've had for cancer over the years, lymphangiograms, CT scans, PET scans. I'll bet the numbers are starting to approach 100 (or at least it feels that way to me). That's a lot of contrast that my body has had to deal with.
Every time I have a scan, the technologists seem surprised that I'm not diabetic yet, like my body (pancreas, kidneys, and liver mostly) hasn't started refusing to work properly because of everything it's been subject to so far.
Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, it seems like I was told in the last month or so that my liver enzymes weren't quite normal in a recent blood count and I should start watching that.
Now, I'm a little paranoid about the amount of contrast that I've been pouring into my body; and I'm on the way to pick up two more bottles of the stuff? Not to mention the IV contrast they'll also shoot through my port?
And there's no accounting for body type or size in the contrast they hand you. "CT Scan of the abdomen? Here, drink these two bottles." It didn't matter if I had the scans done when I weighed 231 pounds or now that I'm down to 164 pounds. They want me to pour the same amount of junk into my body and let my kidneys and liver fight to filter it out. That just doesn't seem right.
I arrive at the Imaging Department a little ticked off at Central Utah Clinic's protocols. Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City doesn't use any contrast--oral or IV--for PET scans, which are even more detailed than CT scans, because their radiologists have realized the contrast doesn't improve the quality of the pictures enough to justify the potential havoc it can wreak on already-weakened bodies.
So I ask to speak to the radiologist at CUC. Surely, they've got to give some on the amount of contrast they demand when considering my body and all it's been through.
I'm politely told that the radiologist is in a procedure with another patient and they don't usually talk to patients anyway. It's okay. I'm determined. I'll wait. Exasperated by my stubbornness to be heard, the receptionist goes to find a technician that will talk to me. I can hear part of their interchange as I wait at the desk.
"I'll go talk to her. The radiologist is busy."
"Yeah, good luck with that."
So I start telling the technologist that I'm worried about pouring more contrast into my body when it's obviously been through so much already, and that there's no consideration for body type or mass taken into account when handing out contrast.
"You're a male, professional defensive linebacker who's 6'5" and 350 pounds? Great. Drink these two bottles of contrast." "You're a female cancer patient who's 5'0" and 164 pounds? Great. Drink these two bottles of contrast."
Then, and only then am I offered a different style of contrast. One that doesn't take the body 4-5 days to break down, just a couple hours, and one that doesn't have any known side affects or possibility of damaging bodies. I just need to arrive tomorrow morning an hour earlier so I can drink it in the office.
Why aren't patients made aware of the choices they have unless they really push back--hard!--at what's being asked of them?
I arrive the next morning an hour earlier and am asked to drink about half of the volume of what those two bottles of contrast contained. I still leave about a swallowful of the new contrast in the bottom of the glass, just on principle! But I'm pleasantly surprised to find that this new contrast tastes much better. No chalky, milky stuff that I'm afraid my body is conditioned to gag on by now. Instead, it's almost a translucent tart substance.
So I didn't convince them not to give my any contrast, but at least we found a less dangerous and less volume (that still isn't based on my body type or size) compromise.
It pays to speak up and advocate for yourself!
On my drive over to Central Utah Clinic's (CUC) Imaging Department, I start thinking about all of the radiologic scans I've had for cancer over the years, lymphangiograms, CT scans, PET scans. I'll bet the numbers are starting to approach 100 (or at least it feels that way to me). That's a lot of contrast that my body has had to deal with.
Every time I have a scan, the technologists seem surprised that I'm not diabetic yet, like my body (pancreas, kidneys, and liver mostly) hasn't started refusing to work properly because of everything it's been subject to so far.
Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, it seems like I was told in the last month or so that my liver enzymes weren't quite normal in a recent blood count and I should start watching that.
Now, I'm a little paranoid about the amount of contrast that I've been pouring into my body; and I'm on the way to pick up two more bottles of the stuff? Not to mention the IV contrast they'll also shoot through my port?
And there's no accounting for body type or size in the contrast they hand you. "CT Scan of the abdomen? Here, drink these two bottles." It didn't matter if I had the scans done when I weighed 231 pounds or now that I'm down to 164 pounds. They want me to pour the same amount of junk into my body and let my kidneys and liver fight to filter it out. That just doesn't seem right.
I arrive at the Imaging Department a little ticked off at Central Utah Clinic's protocols. Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City doesn't use any contrast--oral or IV--for PET scans, which are even more detailed than CT scans, because their radiologists have realized the contrast doesn't improve the quality of the pictures enough to justify the potential havoc it can wreak on already-weakened bodies.
So I ask to speak to the radiologist at CUC. Surely, they've got to give some on the amount of contrast they demand when considering my body and all it's been through.
I'm politely told that the radiologist is in a procedure with another patient and they don't usually talk to patients anyway. It's okay. I'm determined. I'll wait. Exasperated by my stubbornness to be heard, the receptionist goes to find a technician that will talk to me. I can hear part of their interchange as I wait at the desk.
"I'll go talk to her. The radiologist is busy."
"Yeah, good luck with that."
So I start telling the technologist that I'm worried about pouring more contrast into my body when it's obviously been through so much already, and that there's no consideration for body type or mass taken into account when handing out contrast.
"You're a male, professional defensive linebacker who's 6'5" and 350 pounds? Great. Drink these two bottles of contrast." "You're a female cancer patient who's 5'0" and 164 pounds? Great. Drink these two bottles of contrast."
Then, and only then am I offered a different style of contrast. One that doesn't take the body 4-5 days to break down, just a couple hours, and one that doesn't have any known side affects or possibility of damaging bodies. I just need to arrive tomorrow morning an hour earlier so I can drink it in the office.
Why aren't patients made aware of the choices they have unless they really push back--hard!--at what's being asked of them?
I arrive the next morning an hour earlier and am asked to drink about half of the volume of what those two bottles of contrast contained. I still leave about a swallowful of the new contrast in the bottom of the glass, just on principle! But I'm pleasantly surprised to find that this new contrast tastes much better. No chalky, milky stuff that I'm afraid my body is conditioned to gag on by now. Instead, it's almost a translucent tart substance.
So I didn't convince them not to give my any contrast, but at least we found a less dangerous and less volume (that still isn't based on my body type or size) compromise.
It pays to speak up and advocate for yourself!
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