At the end of our last episode, our hero was bravely going to face a CAT Scan. So my dad drives me down into North Kansas City from Liberty for this little procedure, and I'm not sure exactly what to expect. First of all, the office was located in a building with many, many more offices, and I, of course, was without a suite number in the least. So my dad and I end up walking around the building until we find the place.
Step 1 of a CAT scan: Drink icky icky icky stuff.
Ok, so really, step one was to make sure that you hadn't had anything to eat or drink for several hours. That, frankly, makes this part all the worse. In order that the CAT scan should work, one must drink barium, which, I can safely say, is most certainly not one of my favorite elements to ingest. Diluted as it may have been.
So I have to drink 3-14 oz (400+ ml) glasses of this stuff inside of 15 minutes. It wasn't too hard at first, but after a while, your stomach decides that, well, it doesn't like barium and would rather reverse the flow of the fluid than allow it to continue on its normal path. Sadly, though, if I were to vomit, I'd have to start over, and that wasn't going to happen.
Step 2: Wait about an hour.
I read a bit of Time magazine. Interesting.
Step 3: Change into gown.
I decided that I would keep my boxers on as I was not instructed to remove all of my clothing, thank you very much.
Step 4: Iodine is shot through your veins.
You know, to give the computer a better look. I was told that I would have a bit of a warming sensation throughout my body. The only thing I noticed was that I really had to pee, which, could have been the iodine or the 42 oz. of fluid I had ingested previously. No conclusive answer was reached on this matter.
Step 5: Wait a while longer.
My dad and I sat back in the same waiting room (my clothes back where they belong), waiting for the radiologist to give a diagnosis and report it to my primary care physician. Unfortunately, while it is my body they were examining, I was apparently not exactly allowed to be privy to the results. Or at least, I must assume so, because I was merely instructed to go to the emergency room. When I asked if it was, in fact, appendicitis, mum was the word. "They'll make that determination at the emergency room." Fine.
"So, what do I do when I get to the emergency room," I asked. "They'll know, we've already called ahead."
So my dad and I drive a bit further to the designated hospital, and I walk into the emergency room.
When I explained the situation at the check-in, well, let's just say that the CAT scan people had called it a day (it was after 5:00), as had my primary doctor, and the people in the emergency room pled ignorance concerning any phone call alerting them of my impending arrival.
Damn.
