Inside Look

Bile. It began to feel like bile if my imagination of what bile might really feel like when it was sloshing in my stomach. Within 12 hours, I had ingested four cups of berry-flavored contrast or iodine dye and one more generous cup of citrus-flavored contrast at the hospital this morning. It had the faintest lingering taste at the end that was not too pleasant. My stomach was protesting at the contents and at missing breakfast in order to complete my scheduled CT scan this morning.

What CT scan, AGOL?

While seeing a specialist for something else on Tuesday, he became alarmed at symptoms I was describing and began to examine my person with the requisite female nurse present. Several minutes later, he ordered a CT scan for my abdomen and pelvis at the hospital next door to his facility for today. The CT scan will allow him a "slice by slice" inside look of my organs to see if there is any obstruction or growth not belonging in a healthy human.

I recently found myself mysteriously able to eat half or a third less of what I normally consumed but my stomach had gained inches and parts were firmer than normal. The latter part had been happening gradually over the last couple of years. No, I was not in any danger of being pregnant -- my body was just starting to look like it. It was distorted to me. It had finally become embarrassing and uncomfortable enough to seek medical help. I am rarely ever sick, never had a broken bone or any kind of surgery in my life. For me to finally break down was difficult personally and emotionally.

During this morning's special x-ray, I was asked to lay down on top of a sheet covered slim platform. My feet were fed first inside a circular metal mouth housing the special instrument. The radiologist finished right below my breasts. Sometimes I had to hold my breath for 6 or 13 seconds during several passes back and forth. The strangest burning sensation of wanting urinate immediately also followed the additional IV of dye being forced through my body via the needle sticking out of my right arm.

The two good things of this experience were that I didn't have to take jewelry or clothing off and the whole thing lasted less than 30 minutes. Next to the imaginary bile was the surreal aloneness (if that makes sense) I felt while being in the room with the CT scan and the radiologist stationed in a different room to administer and adjust the machine. It was eerily quiet except for the hum of the giant x-ray and instructions being squawked through the microphone.

When I was finally released, I was able to escape the catacomb-like halls of the hospital with a patient wristband and a small bandage where my IV needle had been. I had valet parked my car so retrieving it in the rain was easy. The rainy weather was soothing...

I debated whether to write about this experience because for the many things I do share there are another set of events I do not. Tuesday seems like forever to discuss my results, but that is when my follow-up with my specialist is set. He is a surgeon specializing in laparoscopic surgery; his expertise gives me comfort and trust. In fact, he was the one who recently removed Tawny's husband's gallbladder.

Am I prepared for a diagnosis? Yes. I have already started to plan for different scenarios that included e-mails with HR on handling time-off for surgery should it come to that. I have also extrapolated for a more serious scenario. It is not that I am trying to "borrow trouble" or "write stories that aren't there", but I firmly believe you cannot have a Pollyanna mentality that everything is roses. How naive and stupid. One should always run different ideas in his/her head to not feel shock or hopelessness. I firmly believe in pre-planning which helps dispel the fear of what happens next.

My practicality shifts into overdrive in situations like this while my emotional considerations get pushed back until I allow it a voice or acknowledge its presence. It would be an unwanted nuisance until I find out more. Believe me it is fighting for a voice right now. I can feel pinpricks of tears at the oddest moments until I steel myself against them. There is no room right now. This new goddamn birth control I switched to makes it more difficult to squelch such a feminine response. Ugh.

There are events this weekend that will take my mind off things. Angie is flying in from Los Angeles for Christmas around 5am tomorrow. My aunt and uncle will retrieve her from the airport while I sleep under my new warm IKEA comforter. I will see her later when I meet up with Mi Familia for Kristen's dance recital -- I can't wait!
.

Inside Look