I'm Radioactive Today

Just had my first post-dose meal--some leftover low-iodine-prepared steak and a baked potato* with Fleischmann's salt-free "margarine." Yum, believe it or not! I'm hoping not to lose my sense of taste this time like I did last time. I think it set in about two days after the dose last time, so stay tuned.

*When I first typed potato, I typed "pootato," which made me smile before I edited it. Perhaps I should not have changed it. It might have brought a smile to your face, as well. I am very bad at typing on this laptop because I rarely use it. I bet by the end of the week, I'll be ready for the secretarial pool, though.

I will try as best I can to describe the RAI dose-taking adventure. I have all the time in the world right now, and the rest of society is not in the same boat. All this blathering I'm about to do is to satisfy my own narcissistic desire to remember the details of this odd and fascinating experience and to read about it later...after old age and senility completely set in.

First of all, I love that I was on my bluetooth talking to my friend Diane on my cell phone right before entering Hoag's electrical doors, because I got to be so "current" and so "now" and appear (as if anyone had the time or the inclination to notice little old me outside Hoag) so "mover-and-shaker" or at least "busy" or at the very least "on the phone." After we hung up, I went in, registered, and went to the nuclear medicine department. Those in the know informally call it Nuc Med (pronounced like Nuke Med, of course), and for some reason, I really like it when people use that verbal abbreviation in a medical setting.

So I got to Nuc Med, checked in there, waited a little while til they called me (sat in the waiting room with my head resting against the wall and my eyes closed, concentrating on breathing in and out and praying that everything would go smoothly...and just drinking in the experience and trying to rid myself of any nervous energy, which worked). A gal came in, called out "Laura" and something that sounded like "Bomshay," and when nobody responded, she turned around to leave, and right when the door was about to shut after her, I squeaked out, "The last name you said sounded a little bit like mine, but my first name is Lynn. Are you looking for Lynn Pomije?" and she got all embarrassed and apologized a few times, saying she'd forgotten the name as she came down the hall to get me. She took me back to one of their "Dosing Rooms," which is the first cool thing about Nuc Med.

The room has a bright yellow biohazard sign on the outside of the door (first cool thing about dosing rooms), and you can't just waltz in there. There's a keypad outside the door where they have to enter some secret, nuclear code to enter (second cool thing about dosing rooms). The keypad-entry system is cool from the inside because when they leave you alone (and they invariably leave you alone in the dosing room for one reason or another), they have to punch in the code to get back in, and you can hear this from the inside, so when you’re doing something like picking your nose, or taking a picture with your cell phone of the RAI dose in its tungsten cylinder, the delay gives you just enough time to stop picking your nose or slap shut your cell phone and look nonchalant when they reenter (third cool thing about dosing rooms). [T-shirt idea: I (HEART) DOSING ROOMS]. FYI, I did not pick my nose (this time, wink wink), but I did take a photo of the tungsten cylinder and its cute little burgundy harness/purse/carrying thingy.

The gal entered a code, took me into the room, gave me a few forms to fill out* (see Nuc Med footnote below) and left to go find the Nuclear Physicist (the second cool thing about Nuc Med), who for reasons of protocol needed to give me a consultation before “dosing me.” There’s a lot of protocol involved in nuclear medicine, and I’ve learned to appreciate and respect it and not get impatient. The Nuclear Physicist arrived, punched in the code and entered, and although the gal had called him “KJ” when she went to locate him, he looked more like a nuclear physicist and less like a basketball buddy than his name seemed to imply. He was an intelligent, thoughtful light-skinned Middle Eastern man with professorial glasses. He gave me the run-down on precautions (sleep in a separate bed for at least 5 days, yada yada yada) and then he left to go find the Nuclear Medicine Physician, Dr. Taketa, who would administer the dose.

Dr. Taketa came in, gave me a few last-minute precautionary suggestions, and then, when another young man, a nuclear medicine technician, had entered the secret code and joined us, the tech unscrewed the tungsten cylinder, opened the pill bottle inside, and handed it to me with a cup of water, and boom—I tossed it into the back of my throat and took a couple drinks of water—and it was gone.

The third cool thing about Nuc Med is when they bring in the meter stick (I thought it was charming that they called it a meter stick—I woulda called it a yardstick) and the Geiger counter and measure the millirems per hour of radioactivity that are emitting from your throat/neck area after you swallow the dose. My measurement was 33 mrem/hr at 1 meter, which they said was exactly what they expected it to be. Then they booted me and told me not to linger too long in the lobby.

I drove home, tried to take a nap, felt convinced I felt the RAI absorbing into my left maxillary sinus, which has been MRI-proven to have mucoperiosteal thickening, and where I suffer all my sinus infections, but other than that, I feel delightfully, painfully, absurdly the same.

I watched a TiVO’ed episode of “House” and dozed off, but just for a few minutes, tried to watch “Oprah” but got bored, and now I’m writing this, which is far more exciting than any activity I can think of doing.

Oh wait—excitement beckons: A couple hooligans just came to the front door, heard me trip over the doggie gate inside the house and yell at Taco to stop barking, and then, when I didn’t answer the door, went right by my open master bedroom window commenting loudly about how rude people are not to answer their doors. I thought briefly about telling them I was radioactive, but I didn’t want to get into a tangle with them, so I let it slide, Clyde.

Then an old Santa-looking man (except with a very mean face and all the other normal Santa stuff—white beard, fat) drove V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W-L-Y by our house in a long red truck (sleigh?) with a shell, parked in front of our house, walked over to our driveway and up it a few steps, appeared to be looking at our gate, behind which Taco was insanely barking, and then took his keys out of his pocket, turned around and walked S-L-O-W-L-Y back to his truck/sleigh and drove away. Weird and creepy. He was creeping me out so much that I thought about asking “Can I help you?” through the open window, but I knew it would come out of my mouth confrontational-sounding because I was so annoyed at his suspicious behavior, so I decided to keep my mouth shut. No tangles today. Not while I’m at the peak of my radioactivity. Maybe tomorrow.
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*NUC MED FOOTNOTE: Here are a few choice phrases from some of the paperwork they made me sign before getting my dose. On the hilariously titled Consent to Use Radioisotopes: “The uncertainties and nature of this treatment and the risks of injury despite precautions have been explained to me. I voluntarily accept the risks involved and agree that the above named physician, his assistants, Hoag Hospital, and its personnel shall assume no responsibility for the results of this treatment or its interpretation.” How awesome is that?