I’m only mildly radioactive right now.
Today’s trip to the hospital was for my tracer dose of radioactive iodine in prep for my radioactive whole body scan on Friday. I only got about 5 millicuries today, compared to the 150 I got as my first treatment dose. (I’m expecting to get at least that much again this time.)
But a mini-dose doesn’t mean the doctors take it lightly. In fact, today’s dose was why I needed to start the blasted diet so long ago, so my body would be iodine-deprived and soak this mini-dose up as much as possible. To get the dose, I made my first–but certainly not my last–trip this week to the hospital’s nuclear medicine department. It’s always comforting to be surrounded by symbols like this:
As I’ve become accustomed to, I signed my life away on all sorts of medical consent forms. (I must say, I wish the legibility of my signature had deteriorated from signing too many autographs instead of hospital forms.) As my stomach rumbled, I promised not to eat for another two hours to allow the pill to work its magic. Then the nuc med tech took a small pill from a lead canister, reminded me how important it was that I not touch the capsule, for fear I’d drop it and contaminate the hospital, and told me to gulp it down. And just like that, I was radioactive and sent on my way home.
Directly home, as I had also vowed to observe isolation precautions for a day or so. These will be a whole lot stricter when I get the mega-dose in two weeks, but for today and tonight, at least, I’m hanging out in our spare room–this time thankfully with the door open–staying away from B and Clar, and keeping my food and resulting dirty dishes to myself.
I’m also taking my isolation movie/TV watching for a spin. Did you know there’s this cool service called Netflix that you can pay $8/month and get unlimited streaming video to your computer? (Yes, we are seriously the last people on Earth to subscribe to Netflix, and we have so much stuff Tivoed that we’ll probably cancel it next month.) But for now, it’s perfect. No worries about contaminating DVDs with my radioactivity, and three seasons of Thirtysomething sitting right there, waiting to be downloaded.
This is my kind of isolation.