On Monday I underwent a bone scan to see if my cancer has spread or, hopefully, eradicated. It's been in the lumbar bones and I'm curious to see if more than a year of chemotherapy has done any good.
I was injected with a contrasting agent yesterday afternoon and told to return to the nuclear medicine lab later that day. And, by the way, they said, drink 64 oz. of fluids before you come back. That's a lot of liquid. When I went back, I went to the restroom because this was going to be a 25-minute ordeal of no motion. Once the scanner passed my chest heading south, I looked over at the machine's monitor to see what I look like without skin, muscle or organs. Pretty skinny, I'd say.
But there was a bright blob on the screen. The technician said it was my bladder, and I must go empty it again because the brightness of the image might hide something they need to see. I didn't have the need, but gave it a try for the tech's sake.
I was able to accomodate him and, when he scanned my pelvic area again, the bladder image was smaller and less bright.
I may know results of the bone scan by Thursday. We're praying for good news.