I had my CT scan on a Tuesday morning. It was not unlike a million other tests I'd had done in the last 7 or so years. I had to drink a disgusting chalk contrast beverage (they called it a Berry Smoothie) the night before and the morning of the CT, so my appetite was satiated. Mmm, mmm, good.
On the walk to the machine, I had a poignant conversation with the tech about the "Berry Smoothie". I asked why they didn't attempt "chocolate" or "vanilla". It might be better than "berry". She said that they also had "apple" but it tasted like shampoo. It sounds like whomever is in charge of flavoring the contrast solution should be fired. "Shampoo" or "Chalk-drowned berries" aren't good options. I suppose the theory is that if you are drinking their swill, you are already petrified of test results, so what's a little tastebud torture?
I got comfy on the CT bed and the tech started to run an IV in my right arm (the good arm). She poked, stabbed, dug and begged, but couldn't get the needle in the vein. I kept trying to reassure her that I was ok, but really, I would have loved to punch her in the nose and run the IV myself. "Oh, my! You're a good bleeder!" Yeah, well I bet you are, too. KAPOW!
After going to the left arm and successfully stabbing a vein, we got the party started.
The giant donut clicked on and began to whir and spin. I thought that maybe it would catapult me into the future, or less savory, my past. I closed my eyes and thought about a Van Halen concert, circa 1984. Alas, it was no time machine. I opened my eyes and I was still there, in that small and seemingly sterile room, on my back, my right arm throbbing, left arm impaled by an IV.
"Are you ok?" the tech asked. I grumbled a "fine" and the procedure continued.
Then came the IV contrast. Now, she had warned me of a "rare" reaction that some people have, although it hardly ever happens, won't happen to you, blah blah blah. Of course, it would happen to me. "You could break out in hives."
Guess what happened next?
HIVES!
I had to lay prone for the next twenty minutes until the IV Benedryl started to fight the giant, itchy, red whelps.
The results of the scan? Nothing out of the ordinary going on. "Normal". Absolutely no indication of what is going on in there. Did you expect anything else? "The tests have indicated nothing wrong (nevermind the major pains that are obvious indicators of something dastardly going on)."
The next step? Laparoscopy, someday. For now, I will just deal with it until Lauren is older.