Anatomy of a nuclear scan

Or, where the hell are my superpowers?

As mentioned previously, I had to have a nuclear scan done on my thyroid because I have Hashimoto's disease and a nodule on my thyroid. I finally got the scan done this week, and for those of you curious, I thought I'd describe what went down.

First of all, the scan takes two days. I show up on Thursday at 8:45 a.m. at OSU Medical Center, Doan Hall, 2nd floor. My primary care doc's staff told me it would take all day, so I've taken the day off work (for the second time), packed a book and some crocheting, and I'm ready to be bored out of my skull.

And I'm hungry. No eating after midnight the night before. I'm not a pleasant person when I'm hungry. They didn't say no drinking, so I had a diet coke. Me with no food and no diet coke is not a happy thing, so I hope they know how lucky they are.

I get called back, and after a long list of questions, they pull out a metal (I'm guessing lead) container and drop a red and white capsule into a cup. I'm not supposed to touch it (why, I'm not sure, since it will actually be inside me), but I swallow it down. Then they tell me I can leave.

What?

So, yet again, it seems like my doc's staff was "misinformed" (as they claimed last time), and I just have to come back in six hours. Sigh. I took the day off for this? But, well, I took the day off, so I use the time to finish my holiday shopping and just generally fuzt around without going home. For six hours.

I go back at 3:00. They take me back and point a machine at my knee and my thyroid, three times each, to test the amount of radioactivity taken up by my thyroid. It takes ten minutes. I go home.

Still no superpowers. But I figure they'll take at least 24 hours to manifest.

I go back on Friday. I get the knee-and-thyroid test again (my uptake is "about thirty-two-ish" according to the tech, whatever that means). Then, I get to lie down on a gurney that's directly under a very cold draft as they position what appears to be a very large, heavy metallic funnel very close to my neck. I hope it's securely attached to the arm that's holding it to the rest of the machine.

This is the point when they tell me each picture will take ten minutes and I need to have four done (because, according to the tech, not only do I have a nodule, but I have "a bunch of bumpy stuff on the sides"). I should have peed before I laid down.

So, for the first picture, I try to sleep. No luck. I have to pee. The second picture, I try to figure out what to make for dinner. The fire alarm goes off. "Good," I think. "I can use the bathroom before I leave." No such luck. The alarm stops. And I can't decide what to make for dinner. And did I mention I have to pee? The third picture, I figure out what to make for dinner - a potato, sweet potato & cheese tort-like thing. Still have to pee. The fourth picture, I stare at the ceiling, waiting for it to be over before my neck totally freezes in this highly-uncomfortable position. Ow. Ow. Ow. Funny, this has taken my mind off having to pee. Ow.

Yay! Done!

The tech goes to have a doc look at the scans. Then comes back for my paperwork. Then comes back with the doc, who is no older than twenty-five. OSU is, after all, a teaching hospital. He palpates my neck, then tells me he'll talk to his attending (see? Baby doc) and send the results to my primary that day. Peachy.

So I leave, waving to the firefighters standing around as I go. I will be so disappointed if my superpower is supressing the urge to pee. Because I don't have to go anymore.

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Technorati tags: thyroid, medical