raig daniels
The Rollercoaster Continues
This journey is always a rollercoaster — and yesterday was no exception.I got a call from Champalimaud last night: their MRI machine is broken, so I can only do a PET scan. I was secretly kind of happy — the MRI machine's confinement is claustrophobic, and I've never loved being stuffed into that tube. The trade-off? Another drive to Lisbon in rush hour traffic, which stretches a 25-minute trip into 45.
But first, the good news. I popped my first Prednisone pill at noon yesterday, and within a few hours, most of my pain had dissipated. It lasted through most of the night. I woke up with some of the usual aches, but popped another pill and within an hour felt magical again. I'm no longer walking around like a guy in a neck brace. Everything feels loose, and most of the pain is gone. That alone made it a good day.
A Surprise at Champalimaud
After arriving this morning, checking in, and donning my fabulous robe, I was immediately escorted to the CT machine.Wait — no needle? No contrast? I've never had a CT scan without contrast. I lay on the bed, got scooted into the machine, and was done in less than five minutes. No "breathe in, breathe out, hold your breath" as I've always had in the past. I thought, this is going to be a quick visit. Great—I can jump on the complimentary mini cakes they offer, since I had to fast for 4 hours before the scan.
Nope.
I was escorted to the MRI waiting area and told they'd tried the machine three times this morning — and it was working. They thought they could scan me today after all. Woo hoo, I guess. Get this done and over with. But it also meant I wouldn't escape the needle and catheter in the arm — this scan would require contrast.
(For those unfamiliar: contrast is a special dye injected into your bloodstream through an IV during imaging scans. It helps highlight specific areas — like blood vessels, organs, or tumors — so they appear more clearly on the images. It's a routine part of many MRI and CT scans, but it does mean getting stuck with a needle and having a catheter line in your arm for the duration.)
Into the Tunnel
I didn't have to wait long. I was escorted to the MRI room and lay down on the sled table. The operator inserted foam ear protection into my ears, placed over-the-ear headphones on my head, strapped me down, and positioned the large breast plate on my chest. As I was scooted into the tunnel, the first thing I noticed was that the bed was heated — and it felt so good compared to our cold Portuguese house.I closed my eyes. I was comfortable. I was at peace.
At one point, I felt my leg jerk — I'd nearly dozed off. This was a huge difference from my first MRI, where I was doing deep meditative breathing to keep myself calm, which actually made things worse because the MRI calibrates to your breaths. This time, just under an hour in the machine, and I was done.
I grabbed a delicious mini chocolate and a coffee, and I was out the door.
The Foreigner Tax
The sun was out this morning — something we haven't seen in weeks — so I parked on the street to get a 10-minute walk in. Free parking, or so I thought.I arrived back at my car to find a ticket on the windshield. Not again. This is my third parking ticket since moving here. I call it the foreigner tax — sometimes you just don't know the rules when you don't fully know the language or the systems in place.
