Double 21

The Mr. and I went out to dinner tonight for date night, while the little mr. was at a sleepover. Arriving to the restaurant first, I decided I’d earned a cocktail after the craptastic day I’d had. I perused the drink menu, ultimately deciding on a Mai Tai, to make me feel closer to Hawaii. Because I love everything Hawaii.

The waitress stopped by for my drink order. “What would you like?”

“May I have a water and also this Mai Tai please,” pointing at the item on the menu.

“Sure. You’re over 21 though, right?”

Wait. Is this how they card now? They just ask if you’re old enough to drink? Or is this just because I’m far enough past the 21 mark that it’s pretty damn obvious?

“Ha! Yeah, I’ver over 21. I’m about to be 42. NO! Wait! I’m about to be double 21. GAH! NOOO. I just realized that the moment I said it. Double 21.” And then I sighed.

Cute little waitress, with the high pony tail, sparkling eyes and smooth, bright skin looks at me, smiles, giggles and walks away. You know that giggle, the one that is like a non verbal, ‘now, now, it’ll be okay, you’re not that old’.

Sigh.

In other news, it’s been two solid straight weeks of reminders of my upcoming advance in years.

For example, last Monday I went and saw my Orthopedic as a follow up for the stress fracture in my ankle. While reviewing the new x-rays, he says, “Yep. The bump in your ankle is the new bone healing from your stress fracture. This is quite common in women your age that try to run”.

WHAAAAAT? ‘Women my age’. For the record, he’s waaaay older than me to be saying that shit. And, the previous visit, he noted that my injury is quite common in athletes. So guess what. I’m claiming his first comment and officially naming myself ‘An Athlete’. And I’m dismissing his second comment about ‘women your age’. This is the awesome thing about being a ‘woman that age’. I pick and choose who I listen to and how far I let them into my brain.

So there’s that.

Lastly, this doctor stated he wanted me to get a bone scan to see if there’s anything else we need to be aware of in the healing process. So this past Monday, I arrived at the hospital to be injected with radioactive dye. After injecting the dye, they took initial pictures and then asked me to come back in three hours, by then the dye would be absorbed into my bones so the scan could take the best pictures.

Three hours later, I showed up, certain I made it through the worst part of the procedure already, the injection. Now it was time for the scan in which I had to lie perfectly still, my feet bound together with an elastic band to hold them still through the 30 minute process. The tech warned me the machine would get very close to me, but would not touch me. The scan would start taking pictures at my head and then slowly progress all the way to my feet. Oh Mercy.

SHE LIED. The tech lied. It touched me. The camera touched me. Here’s the thing. Ever since a blind date my senior year in high school in which the dude took me to a pool hall and then to the caves along the Mississippi River in St. Paul, I have this little nagging thing with claustrophobia when in very small spaces. This full story should really be saved for another post, because who brings their blind date to a pool hall AND makes her crawl on her stomach in dirt, through a hole maybe 24″ high, to get into a cave. WHO DOES THAT? Anyhoo, since then, I can’t pull blankets over my head, put my head under water, or say, have a machine two foot by two foot and eight inches thick hover so close to my face it touches my nose, without TOTALLY FREAKING OUT.

I held it together, some. how. My heart was racing and I had to focus really hard to control my breathing. But I did. I made it through the thirty minute scan. So relieved once it was over. Through all this, the tech kept asking questions about why the doctor had ordered the scan. She seemed really confused. And because I was already on high alert with my anxiety during the scan, my irrational brain kept telling me it was certain I was having this scan because they thought I had bone cancer. Yep. I was certain of it.

At one point, the tech took additional pictures of my ankle and I could see the screen during the scan. All I saw was a bright collection of white on my ankle where it had been hurting, while the rest of the image was a dark, grainy brown color. That’s it! That’s the cancer! Glowing and shining right in my face. I was dying. I knew it.

Again. This was my complete and TOTAL IRRATIONAL brain talking. I was already freaking out from the machine making me feel claustrophobic. And then this. The bright collection of white dots where the pain is.

After it was done, she told me I’d hear back in a business day or two.

I walked to my car, taking deep breathes of the wide open air, enjoying the wide open space above my face. Ahhhhh.

And then I sped up my walking so I could immediately Google what I just went through the minute I got to my car. This bone scan – why is it used, what are they looking for, what does it diagnose? And this is what I found:

 The radioactive dye collects in places of disease or illness or healing. 

See? Cancer. Disease. That’s all I saw. I didn’t really see the word ‘healing’. Because it came at the end. This is what happens when you have an over active mind. A likelihood to experience anxiety in stressful situations.

The next day I had an appointment with my Therapist and recounted the story of this bone scan to her. My heart rate increased just retelling the story. My palms became sweaty. I was restless in the chair. Crossing and uncrossing my legs. It felt real again. Like I was right back in the radiology room. However, I had regained my more rational mind and joked with her that yesterday, I was certain I was dying of bone cancer. I saw it on the screen – after all. We laughed and joked, but also seriously discussed the very real anxiety I experienced the day before.

After my therapy appointment, my phone rang while I was walking to my car.

“Hello, Heather? This is Jane from the Orthopedic office. Do you have a minute? I’m sorry to tell you this -”

OHMYGOD. This is it. I AM dying. I was right.

” – but we ordered the wrong scan for you.”

“Whaaaat?”

“Ugh. I’m so, so sorry. We will pay for it and everything. But we ordered the wrong scan. The one you had yesterday. The doctor actually just wanted the DEXA Bone Scan to measure your bone density. It is still a whole body scan, but without the dye. I’m so sorry.”

So – here’s the news:

A) I don’t have cancer. I’m not dying.

This is really, really, really good news. And yes, I’m making light of this experience, because making my anxiety funny helps me cope. But B.

B) I have to do a whole body scan again. I have to have a ginormous camera hover over my head for minutes and minutes and minutes while I try to take myself to a hammock on a beach on a tropical island – in my head anyway.

And all of this, because I’m a ‘lady THAT age’.

So that’s awesome.

Anyone out there have a DEXA scan before? Is the camera that scans you as big as this other one I experienced? Will I freak out? Does it get that close to my face? Because I have to go in again on Monday for the second scan, for the CORRECT scan. And I’m slightly (NO TOTALLY) freaking out.

Peace, Love, and Bone Scans.

-H