Bone Cancer: Part 2: May 19: PET/CT Scan

The following was written on May 20, the day after Peggy's  CAT/CT scan. I have but little time for editing.

We didn't get fifty feet from the house on our way to the hospital for Peggy's PET/CT scan before feeling the sickening rumble of a flat tire. Our neighbor's car was home, so I ran over to ask if he could take us to the hospital. He said he was in an online business meeting and asked if I could wait five minutes. I said that we were having semi-emergency, and he left his meeting. While I was talking with Kevin, Peggy was running in circles, holding her head in both hands, and screaming: "NO, NO, NO, NO NO, NO, NO!" A passing bicyclist asked if she needed help. She said no, but then called him back. He promised to have her on the road in no time. When Kevin and I arrived, I told him that we didn't have the time to wait for a tire change, even a speedy tire change. After making sure there was nothing more he could do, he left.

While checking in at Oregon Imaging, Peggy was unable to remember her birthday. She desperately wanted me to be with her when the technician started her radioactive iodine drip, but the woman who came to take her to the back refused.  I waited for Peggy to speak, but when she stood silent and defeated (behavior that is rare for her), I said, "My wife is here to find out if she is going to die. She is very afraid, and she needs me to be with her." The employee then said (grudgingly, I thought) that I could go as far as the next waiting room, but absolutely no further. 

When a Hispanic imaging technician named Katie entered the waiting room, I asked her if I go with Peggy to the IV room. Upon seeing our tears, she said, "Absolutely!" We immediately believed that Katie was both a good technician and a good human being, so I trusted that I was leaving Peggy in good hands.

I next took a walk around the outside of the large hospital. On the quiet backside, I happened upon a solitary man whose employee ID badge read, "Daniel Martinez, Driver." When our eyes met, he asked me how I was. I could tell that he really wanted to know, so I told him through my tears. When I was done, he asked, "Are you a man of God?" I said no, wondering if he was about to preach to me. He instead said that I was going to need support and suggested that I see a psychologist. I said that I am on good terms with an Episcopal priest, and that I would talk with him if Peggy has cancer. Daniel's phone then rang and he had to go to work, so we shook hands and went our separate ways. I spent the next two hours walking in and around what is the biggest hospital between San Francisco and Portland. It was then that I took the enclosed photos

On May 21 (the day after I wrote the above), Peggy got an early morning email saying that Kirk wanted to see her in his office at 5:00, and that he had ordered blood tests and another MRI. I will continue my account today if possible, but if not today, then certainly tomorrow. It might seem like a cliff-hanger of an ending, so I'll just say that we still have but limited answers.