PET Scan

I have another PET scan Monday morning - at least I think I do. The oncology clinic called back and confirmed the scan, so I guess it's really going to happen this time. Scheduling PET scans is more ticklish than most medical procedures because of the brief half-life of the radioactive materials involved - in this case, a radioactive isotope of fluorine masquerading as oxygen, I believe. It doesn't exist in nature and has to be whipped up in a cyclotron, which I find endlessly interesting. In fact, I find the whole notion of beta decay endlessly interesting. How does it do that? And why??

I guess if we knew why beta decay happened, we'd all be wiser.

Anyway, I have no symptoms of cancer, so I expect the PET scan to be something of a formality. My leg is still somewhat swollen and sullenly uncooperative, but I think that's just a fact of life. I don't seem to have any bumps, lumps, night sweats, unexplained itches or that odd subliminal feeling that my body is up to something stupid.

But you never know, and if it's all right with everyone, I think I'll "go ahead on" (as Joe Don Baker said) and worry about it anyway, just in case. I personally find PET scans painless and restful, but I also find the business of waiting for the results quite stressful. I remember once I was waiting for a biopsy result to come back. I knew I still had cancer - I could feel the nodes in my neck and groin - so there wasn't that much stress. I knew I still had cancer; all the test could do was confirm what I already knew. But when you think you don't have cancer, the tests become even more stressful. You want good news so bad you can taste it, but at the same time, cancer has a weird inevitability that preys on the mind. It's like trying to keep Bermuda grass out of the garden - sure, there's no Bermuda in there now, but all it takes is one itty-bitty little Bermuda seed floating on the breeze and you've got real work on your hands. And all it takes is one mutant B lymphocyte to get a wild hair, and it all starts over again.

Back when I was going through chemo I used to listen to the song "Step Up" by Drowning Pool. I'm not a fan of the Drowning Pool ouerve, but that song had a certain accessibility, and it served as well as any other as a chemo fight song. But then I made the mistake of viewing the music video for it a few weeks ago. Oh dear. What is that thing on that guy's chin? And they're all so noodley!

I'm tempted to declare "Runes To My Memory" by Amon Amarth as the new fight song, because I happen to really like that song, and at least the guys in the band are fairly big and tough-looking. But I'm not sure the message of the song is one that I want sent down to my immune system. I want those little T-cells and whatnot to go around and kick the crap out of my mutant B lymphocytes, not sit around lamenting the fact that they're dying next to a river deep in the land of the Rus and they'll never make it home.

"Gods Of War Arise" by Amon Amarth might be a better choice. (In case you haven't noticed, I've been listening to Amon Amarth a good deal lately. Normally I just pick and choose the one or two Amon Amarth songs that I like, but I was fiddling with one of those gadgets that broadcasts your iPod on an unused FM radio station, and inasmuch as I was going about 70 miles per hour on the freeway, I didn't think that screwing around with the iPod was such a hot idea. So I just let it play, and the song "Asator" came on. I'd never really listened to it all the way through, and it really isn't that good, but about halfway through they drop into a thrashy sort of riff that kind of reminds me of "Dark Transmission" by Vader (or "Trans Dark Mission" as they say more than once). And yes, that's a good thing. So I've been listening to that Amon Amarth album ever since, trying to see what other good things I've missed.)