Panic at the PET Scan

Last Thursday as my alarm went off obscenely early, I was prepared to tackle the PET scan with ease as it was my second one and I was practically a seasoned veteran. Knowing of my lengthy waiting period in a lead, radioactive-proof room, I packed several items to entertain myself. As we entered the cancer center, we took a seat in the waiting lobby and my attention was quickly drawn to the lady at the desk. I noticed she kept asking questions, but I didn't hear anyone answering even though I saw a man sitting in front of her. After observing, I realized the man could not speak. The lady at the desk must have realized this fact as well and raised her voice as if her shouting would help the man speak. For the next 10 minutes I got to observe a hilarious interaction between the shouting lady and the wheezing man. Finally, after it was my turn to register for my appointment, I was taken back to my tiny room to be injected with radioactive sugar. I was prepared to wait a full 90 minutes for the sugar to circulate, but after only 60 minutes, a very kind lady poked her head in and told me we had some prep work to do before my scan. I was so elated at getting out of that tiny room early. Little did I know what was in store.

The lady, we will call her Nicole because that is her name, explained to me that she needed to mold a mask to fit my face. The mask keeps my head and neck motionless. Motionless is essential when scanning and zapping because they need an accurate picture to zap me in the correct places. Nicole dunked a 12"x12" piece of blue, plastic, mesh into warm water and then pulled it over my face. Three sides of the square were secured to the table as she stretched the warm, wet, pliable plastic over my face. Once the mesh had hardened, ta-da! A contoured mold of my face and neck! How cool, right? Or at least I thought so at that brief moment before it turned into the blue mask of panic.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Nicole and the radiation technician retrieved me from my tiny room and took me to the scanning area. I laid down on a hard board as they strapped my arms in and positioned my head/neck on a very hard, uncomfortable neck support that tilted my chin back. The first 20 minutes of the 28 minute scan were bearable. The neck support was very uncomfortable, but I kept telling myself it was almost over. As Nicole and the radiation tech came in the room, I was thankful to be almost done. Nicole explained that now she needed to put the mask over my face and we had about 15 minutes left. 15 minutes!? At this point, the back of my head was going numb and my neck had a literal pain in it.

Now, I would like to preface this next section with the fact that I do not even in the least little bit consider myself claustrophobic. It was a terrible combination of factors that led me to react as anyone would have.

As she put the mask on my face and buckled it to the table, totally disabling me from movement, she exited the room and began the scan. As the table began to move into the scanner tube, I asked if we could take a break for just a second. My neck was hurting so badly, I just needed a minute before we started the next 15 minutes. As I waited for Nicole to come unhook my mask, I began to panic. I was hungry, I was in pain, I was unable to move, and I was alone. Trapped and alone. The tears started to stream. Nicole noticed my panic, unhooked my mask, and let me sit up for a minute. After regaining my composure, we tried again. Not even two minutes had passed before the panic overwhelmed me once again. I tried to tough it out, tell myself that I could do this. But all I could think about was how alone and trapped I was. All I could feel was the blue mask hugging the contours of my face, holding my head down. The tears began to roll and as Nicole and the radiation tech heard me crying they aborted the test once again. I felt like such a failure. I apologized and asked to see Shane. I just needed someone to be there with me. I needed to know that I wasn't alone.

Nicole led me to a small room with a bed and instructed me to rest for about 20 minutes. She also asked if I wanted the doctor to get me anything. I think she was implying that I needed calming medication. After responding that I was okay, she asked, "Are you sure?" I don't think she wanted another panic at the PET scan incident. But I stood my ground and told her I was fine. Twenty minutes of waiting turned into an hour and twenty minutes as they had other people with scheduled scans. I just rested, talked to Shane, and calmed down. I realized that if I could somehow distract myself, I would be fine during the scan. I just needed something to think about other than the fact that I was immobilized, trapped, and alone. Luckily, I had my iPad! Once it was time for me to try again, I played some Colbie Caillat, closed my eyes and imagined I was at the beach and the pressure I felt on my face was simply a towel to shade my eyes from the sun. Music will be my saving grace as I get to encounter the blue mask every day for the next three to four weeks.

Results from the PET scan come in Thursday and radiation starts at the end of this week, probably Thursday as well.