How Entertaining Can a PET Scan Be?

I was supposed to have a PET (Positron emission tomography) scan on Wednesday. After fasting for eight hours, and being injected with glucose and a radiotracer, I waited, waited and waited some more. Finally it was a NO GO. The computer that ran the PET scan broke down and was unable to scan the last three patients, including me. A repairman was being flown in to repair it, but the machine was scheduled to be in Portland, Oregon the next day and wouldn’t be back in Bellingham for another week. Bob phoned the pulmonologist’s office on Thursday morning to see where we could get the PET scan done earlier. (The results of a PET scan takes several days and a plan of cancer treatment can't be made until those results are known. So, every day counts.) The good news is that arrangements were made for the PET scanner to return to Bellingham on Saturday and I am now scheduled for a scan at 8:30 tomorrow morning.

When things don’t turn out right, I guess it helps to look at it with a sense of humor, and the whole thing reminded me of a traveling carnival. The PET scan is located in a big eighteen-wheeler, the bright yellow cab painted with a Penske logo. The man who came into the imaging center to escort me to the truck (in the parking lot) was the truck driver - with tattoos, cowboy boots, black armband, and a t-shirt that read "Radiology." While I waited for my turn, there was Country Western music playing in the background with Rawhide, Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town, and Stand By Your Man. It played through the tape three times while I was there... I just about had the words memorized! One of the technicians was a black woman with a profound limp. Maybe it was the music, but I was reminded of Chester in the old TV series Gunsmoke. The other technician was a woman of indeterminate age who cheerfully ran the show… operating the computer that runs the machine, trouble shooting when the computer broke down, and injecting the radiotracer into my vein. When she did the bloodwork on me, she asked me to lean back into the chair. “If you lean forward and faint, you’ll land on me! But it’s usually the big, macho guys who do that.” Meanwhile the Country Western stars continued to belt out their sad tales. To the beat of tom toms, I heard about Kaw-liga, That Poor Old Wooden Head! “Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian standin' over by the door, fell in love with a Chocktaw maid over in the Georgia store.” The chorus still goes round and round in my head:

Poor ol' Kaw-Liga, ain't never got a kiss
Poor ol' Kaw-Liga, you don't know what you miss
Is it any wonder, that his face is red?
Kaw-Liga, you poor old wooden head

I finally got onto the table and into the machine’s dark interior, and could hear the machine rev up… then the sound of music again. This time it was calm, soothing classical music. I could have listened to that forever, but then came the ominous sound of the machine shutting down… after waiting for three and a half hours the scan was aborted. Damn! Later Bob took me to Shari's for some comfort food... chicken pot pie. Hopefully Saturday’s appointment will be less entertaining and with better results.

...PLM