Radioactive Monday

 

Two medical appointments this past Monday consumed the better part of my day, leaving me with a little something extra inside.

Both appointments were at a nearby hospital (with outrageous parking rates). At the first appointment, I was injected with a small amount of a radioactive nuclear tracer, followed by a relatively quick body scan. The waiting in the waiting room was longer than the procedure itself. The body scanning machine was large and very impressive. On the ceiling, there were four light panels, two of them the ordinary kind, the other two featuring lovely blue sky with fluffy white clouds. A nice touch, I thought, but I wasn’t on my back long enough to appreciate them. I didn’t know then how much more I’d appreciate them during my second appointment, two hours later.

The radioactive tracer now had to be given time to work its way through my body and into my bones. I left the hospital to do a few groceries and have lunch at a plaza nearby. The hospital itself has a lovely airy lobby with restaurants and gift shop. I had a book with me (of course), and also a notebook and pen, so I could have easily spent my two-hour break there (and avoided the double-whammy of two parking charges - $34 – instead of incurring the daily maximum of $20 if I’d stayed. Why is hospital parking so ridiculously expensive, even in the suburbs?). But, I didn’t want to hang around in a hospital, because no matter how much light and glass is used in the building, hospitals are not happy places. And I figured I could knock off some errands. So, I left and ate a most delicious sushi lunch while the tracer snaked its way around inside me.

The book I had chosen to take with me to read in hospital waiting rooms was APPLES ON A WINDOWSILL by Shawna Lemay,

which I’d read previously, but because of the expected hospital vibe, I decided against my current read (fiction) in favour of wanting something soothing and lovely, something with thoughtful observations and Lemay’s book was just the thing with its lyrical reflections on still lifes and life in general.

Upon my return for my second appointment, I was in a different waiting room. There was a sign on the wall warning nuclear medicine patients that if they were travelling to the U.S. in the next few days, the radioactive material in their bodies could trip border security alarms. No problem, I have absolutely no intention of going to the U.S. for the next little while (4 years) while the orange dictator is in charge. I returned to my book.

I was ushered into a different room this time, but the same set-up as the previous room – big, impressive machine, two blue sky and white cloud panels on the ceiling. I didn’t have to remove any clothes, only my boots and any metal accessories.

I lay down on the table, they tucked a pillow under my knees and head, bound my feet together lightly, and, with arms by my side, they wrapped and tied those in a sheet. Trussed like a turkey, I submitted to the wonders of bone scans with nuclear medicine. As an aside here, let me say how gentle and efficient these technicians were, explaining every step, what was going to happen next, answering any questions I had. I am so grateful to our medical system. None of this cost me a dime (other than through my taxes).

They warned me that the top plate of the machine (about two-feet square) would come very close to my face and indeed at one point I got a little panicked when I was sure it would bump my nose. I lay still as the machine whirred and angled and moved its way down my body for half an hour. Once the plate had moved away from my face I could gaze up into the blue sky and white cloud panels and now I really understood why they were there. They were calming as the minutes ticked on and on.

The overall body scan done, the machine was now adjusted to focus on individual sections: lower body and hips, upper body and chest, and then skull. Another half hour. During the upper and lower body scanning, the blue sky/cloud panels lulled me into such a calm state, I almost dozed off into an afternoon nap. Almost. The skull scanning was different. Again, the plate came alarmingly close to my head. But now, my head was turned to one side, then the other, so I was looking into the room instead of directly at the plate. There was no dozing now, my eyes were wide open. Still, I trusted in the machine and the technicians. It is in these vulnerable moments we understand how much we rely on science and in the skilled expertise of our fellow human beings. One small slip, one error, one malfunction, and wham, my skull would be as mushy as the sushi in my tummy.

Finally, it was all done. They untrussed me. I thanked them, put on my coat and boots and left, a little more radioactive than when I’d woken up that Monday morning.

*

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But I loved it, and found myself going to bed early so I could return to it.

A family drama, spanning decades, but not so much drama as depth. An older married couple with a close sweetness, understanding, and depth of love rarely found in books (let alone real life - my opinion only!!). Four adult daughters whose troubled past comes back to find them. There’s sibling rivalry and sibling love and protection, my least favourite sibling being the uptight Violet, and my most favourite, the smart-mouthed Wendy, hiding her pain (and her tender, generous heart) under a veneer of booze and casual relationships.

Such a wonderful read.