CT Scan and the TARDIS

This is what the machine Alex was put in yesterday looks like. I'm sure many of you have seen one on TV shows, but it is very different sitting in the room with one.

Alex had to drink about 10 ounces of liquid with a "contrast" solution in it. Then, we waited, and waited, and waited. Turns out that the pediatric CT machine was not working.

We were told that the dye that they needed to inject into his blood, could damage his Port, so they needed to do an IV. Alex was not happy about this AT ALL. But, our brave boy, allowed the nurse to put on the numbing cream on his arm (his preference for an IV line), and on the top of his hand (his least favorite place for an IV). The IV nurse came in about 45 minutes later, and tried the arm site, but the needle went "through and through", and was unusable. So, Alex with a frown on his face, watched the nurse very closely, as she put the big IV needle into his hand. She was very good, and Alex didn't feel a thing.

We went down to the "classroom" here in the unit, where Alex started having an anxiety attack. He *really* wanted to make bouncy balls (science experiment), but his fear won out. We decided to come back to the room, where Eric held him close, which helped him calm down. Have I mentioned what an amazing father Eric is?

At the same time, "Chelsea's Closet" was on the floor, handing out new costumes to all the kids. Alex was too nervous to go to the volunteers to pick out a costume, so I went and got him a "knight" costume, with sword, shield, and breast plate. It was a big hit in the comfort of our hospital room.

During all of this, Alex's fever started to rise AGAIN, and his legs were hurting. The nurse gave him oxycodon, and within a few minutes, he was playing, and bouncing off the walls.

Finally, at about 4:30, Alex's transportation (a hospital bed) arrived to take him for his CT scan. Eric gave Alex a good-bye hug, and headed back to spend some time with Tessa.

Alex and I were then collected, and our chauffeur navigated the maze of hallways down to the imaging center.

With Alex's earlier anxiety, I was worried that this test would send him over the edge. The technician explained that with the delay, all the contrast solution we had Alex drink before, was no good anymore, and "here, drink these 10 oz of apple juice quickly". I put on my big "plastic" smile, and held the cup, and Alex gulped as fast as he could.

I was then instructed to put Alex on the table of the machine, gently placing his noggin in the head rest. Then, he smiled. He was enjoying this! While Alex lay still, completely exposed to the radiation, the technician sat behind very thick glass, and I sat covered in lead shielding, just out of arms reach.

With the IV hooked up, and the machine turned on, Alex looked at me, and gave me the most mischievous smile I have ever seen! When the test was over, he told me "Mom, it sounded just like the TARDIS! For those of you not familiar with that term, the TARDIS, is the time machine that Dr. Who travels in, on our family's favorite TV show: Dr. Who. Unfortunately, we did not come out of the CT scan room in an alternate reality, where Alex did not have cancer...

I walk these halls back and forth from the cafeteria (and Starbucks) in a daze. I put a smile on my face, and I'm not exactly sure why. I'm in the hospital - the children's hospital - in the oncology department. I deserve to have red swelled eyes, and puffy cheeks. I deserve to break down in the hallway, and cry hysterically while looking down at the city below us.

Maybe I put on the plastic smile, to try and convince myself that everything will be OK. That the CT scan will show a small fungal ball in his sinus that the doctors can easily treat. That the CT scan won't show anything at all, and that the fevers just go away. That a blood test will come back and the doctors will say - "we were wrong". That this nightmare is just that - and Eric and I will wake up at home with our family intact.

I could really use "The Doctor" right now, and the TARDIS to whisk us away to a time when cancer was 100% curable 100% of the time.