Today I had my radioactive iodine tracer. It was weird and tasted like stale almonds. I had to work hard not to be an asshole to the tech, mostly because I was grumpy from not being able to eat. I knew ahead of time that I couldn't eat for four hours in advance - not a long time, so no big deal. Then the tech tells me I can't eat for another two hours (strike one), and then launches into am I sure I'm not pregnant: I managed to hold a nasty sentence (involving the words dude and fuck - arrange how you'd like), but barely. Strike three was handing me the bottle of industrial strength laxative for tomorrow night (there goes practice). I've had to do this a bunch of other times (3-4?) for scans....industrial strength. The scan is on Friday, so I'm nearly done! Salt, here I come. I am also now the new proud owner of a letter to take when I go to the States (any time in the next two months) explaining why I may set off their radioactive scanner. Cool.
ps. I had my last WCT post ready to go, but blogspot ate it. I'll finish it tomorrow when I'm not....uh....
1 comment:
I'm laughing pretty hard right now...not at you, but with you. Sounds like rough times over there. Look forward to eating a ton of chips with you this weekend. Please leave the industrial strength laxative at home ;)
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