In preparation for the scan I had a delicious berry-flavoured barium trace drink to guzzle. It's not going to be anyone's 1st choice of beverage, but by now, it had been ~36 hours since my last meal of substance: it did the trick.
After another interminable wait, I was wheeled down to the scan room, and handed over to the nurse/technician (I didn't have the presence of mind to check her actual status). As she explained what was going to happen, I hit the "I have no idea what you are saying to me" stage. I recognised all the words, just not in the sequence she used them.
For the purposes of a contrast scan, it is necessary to introduce marker reagents. Now, the one via the needle in the back of the hand was just uncomfortable and made me almost puke, but the one at the other end, a different level.
There is no particular dignity in laying half-naked on a hospital bed whilst a nurse basically feeds a hose into your arse and then turns on the tap. Still, needs must. We got on with the scan, and then I was wheeled back to the room for another wait.
The surgeon came in with the results, but before my wife had arrived, so I suggested we wait on the debrief. She arrived, we waited some more, and then got the news. A mass in the colon that needs to be removed, and maybe some issue with liver, but not worth worrying about just now (more of that in later post). I sat there in a daze, having been hit by the proverbial 40 tonne truck, she asked questions, I dazed some more. The upshot was I was having surgery next week, the prospects looked good, but he finished with "know that now you're fighting for your life". Great. And with that we left.
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