Today, I became radioactive.
I allowed myself to become radioactive for the purpose of ruling out the existence of cancer in my breast.
Radioactivity is safe, the medical professionals say. However, post 9/11 security measures make it necessary to lock the room in which the BSGI is performed. You wouldn't want the radioactive matter stored in that room to get into the wrong hands, even though it isn't enough to make a "dirty bomb." Likewise, a support person cannot accompany me to the BSGI room. A) They can't be trusted and B) while the radiation won't hurt them, there's no point exposing them to it.
The radioactive isotope that was injected into my blood is called Technetium-99m or Tc99m. Tc99m has a 6 hour half life. A half life is the amount of time it takes radioactive material to become half as harmful. The half-life is defined in terms of probability: It is the time when the expected value of the number of entities that have decayed is equal to half the original number. The degree of severity of radiation is measured in half lives.
Confused yet?
The syringe used to inject Tc99m into my veins becomes radioactive and must be stored in a lead box with all other radioactive syringes. This lead box full of radioactive syringes must be left to decay to "less than background," which is ten half lives. Therefore, the syringes, and the gloves worn by the nurse when handling Tc99m filled syringes, must be stored for 60 hours before they are considered a safe bio-hazard. At that point, they are removed from the facility and taken to an undisclosed location.
Before injecting me with Tc99m, the nurse asked, "Are you planning to fly in the next day or so?" I laughed and said, "Yeah! That would be awesome!" The nurse looked confused by my response. And this confused me. I said, "Wait, what do you mean?" She said, "Are you planning to take a trip on an airplane?"
"Oh. No."
I thought she was making fun of the fact that I would soon become radioactive like all great superheroes. She was just probing me in order to ascertain whether or not to provide me with a special card to present airport officials in the event that my radioactive blood would set off security devices.
The test itself was pretty uneventful. The radioactive isotopes felt pretty neutral in my veins. I then subjected my breasts to the Dillon 6800 for roughly half an hour. this camera has a shelf and clamping device similar to the mammogram. The main difference is that it was not necessary to mash my boobie flat. And each picture took roughly six minutes. She took three of each breast.
The nurse then instructed me to wait. And then she told me she wanted to do a sonogram of my left breast. And after that I waited for the doctor to discuss the results.
The doctor who had taken care of me previously is a woman, a breast cancer "survivor" herself - Dr. B. I have absolute respect for her and no problem with her manner whatsoever.
Dr. B. was not in the office on this day. Dr. D., a man, was on duty.
For the record, I do not trust my female parts to a male doctor. On this occasion, I thought I would be alright since all he'd be doing was tell me the results of my test.
Dr. D. is a bit overly enthusiastic in manner. All smiles and bouncing like Pee-Wee Herman on a new bike. He ushered me into the mammogram room where I sat in a chair - unnecessarily - while he said in a brisk and bubbly voice, "Well the left breast looks ok. There's just that one problem area in the right breast. But we'll take care of that tomorrow."
I stared at him stunned.
"You've scheduled a biopsy for tomorrow, right?" he asked.
Silence. Staring.
"Dr. B. discussed this with you already, did she not?"
"I, um..."
"Here....let me get the form."
His rapid-fire delivery floored me. I sat like a deer in headlights while he dashed out to retrieve a copy of the form that Dr. B. handed me after my repeat sonogram. It indicated her recommendation for the BSGI and biopsy.
Still confounded, I offered, "I didn't schedule a biopsy. I thought I was to schedule a biopsy pending the results of this test."
"Your test was positive."
"Oh. Ok. I guess I'll schedule a biopsy now."
I stood up and began to stride away.
"Are you upset?" he asked. "It seems like I've upset you."
"Yes. I'm upset."
"I thought Dr. B. went over all this with you."
"Yes. I just....I'm sorry, it's not your fault. I'm upset....it's not your fault." I walked away.
Dr. D. called out, "Don't you want to put your clothes on?" I was still wearing the lovely medical gown.
"Oh. Yes."
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