Forced Relaxation

Friday, December 23, 2011: First, a note about my big scan day yesterday. Later, a note about the funeral of my friend, Marilee.

SCANS: Unfortunately, a big part of this new life of mine is the need for scans, both CT (also called "Cat" scans) and PET. "Cats" are shorter, less defined, and much more "easy" to fit into a busy schedule. "PETs" are essentially three-dimensional, in color, more detailed, and involve hours and hours of "forced relaxation" (as my optimistic daughter-in-law would say). When a doctor just wants to make a regular check of how things are going, they'll order a CT scan. That's the one I had last Monday, where I had to drink the nasty contrast and have the IV that shoots "warm" radiation through my body. It lasted about an hour from the time I arrived at the hospital. When a doctor has looked at a CT scan and sees something out of the ordinary or a "hot" spot, they usually want a PET scan done because it gives much more information than the regular CT. That's the one I had yesterday at the Huntsman Center (and that I've had several times in the past year). A few requirements of the test are that I am "forced" to sit in a quiet, semi-lit room (of course, I am comfortably sitting in a recliner with an oven-warmed blanket on me!) after being injected through an IV with the radioactive contrast for 75 minutes. This is before I'm even taken to the test room. 75 minutes is a L O N G time when it's three days before Christmas and the list sitting on your kitchen counter is longer than your arm. Ugh...it was almost tortuous. I will admit that I almost fell asleep a few times, only to jerk awake again as I realized where I was and what I was doing. I checked my watch about three times and I was just about to call for another warm blanket (why are these hospital test rooms and waiting rooms so dang cold??) when the technician returned to take me into the test room. PET scans are usually done from the tip of your head to the bottoms of your feet and require that the test be conducted in two segments--head to top of thighs...switch positions...thighs to feet. Each segment takes 20 minutes or longer. Plus, I was also required to have a separate 10 minute PET scan of my neck and head, since the questionable "spot" was in my left neck. So, for at least 45 minutes, I was on my back, staring at the underbelly of a scanner (which is very plain and non-interesting) and listening to my own heartbeat and trying hard not to fall asleep or make any movements that would influence the test. It's a HARD thing and I don't like it, especially yesterday when I thought of all I could be (and should be) doing at home to get ready for Christmas. And of course, I worried about Linds out in the waiting room, who also had an arm-length list of her own, plus three little girls to take care of. Oh boy, the patience this fight is making me practice! I won't know any results until my doctor's appointment on Tuesday with Dr. Grossmann, but at this point, I don't care. I just want to push it out of my mind for the next three days and celebrate Christmas with my family. No more hospitals, no more scans, no more needles stuck in the tired veins of my arms. No more...

MARILEE: Wednesday was the funeral of my chorus friend, Marilee. It was a beautiful winter day and the sun actually came out after weeks of gloom and gray--the "winter solstice" someone reminded us, the bringing back of the light. And light, indeed, came to me that day as I listened to the speakers and the music and reflected on Marilee's life, as well as my own. Marilee's bishop said it best, when he tried to describe Marilee in one-word epitaphs. The first he thought of was "childlike". "She was a little girl in a woman's body," he said. Suddenly the light clicked on for me. It was a perfect description of Marilee. She loved to dress up, she loved lots of makeup and big hair, she loved to sing and dance and perform. She also constantly needed reassurance and "help", whether it was for a ride because her car was broken or the need for a compliment when she lost all her hair to chemotherapy and had to wear a wig. She was always asking questions, sometimes asking the same question over and over. She sometimes looked at you with a question in her eyes and when she said, "okay," to something you had said, you realized that she didn't really mean it...it was not okay and she still did not understand. She was a lost soul in a grown-up world and didn't quite know how to manage that world. Her bishop said she had two constants in her life: one was her love for her two little granddaughters, Jane and Paisley; the other was her involvement in the Utah Symphony Chorus and Utah Opera. It was truly something to think about and ponder. Another speaker talked about the perfect love of our Heavenly Father. You and I are imperfect and we could not (nor should not) ever judge Marilee. But the Father, who is perfect in love and in judgment, will judge perfectly--he will know and see into Marilee's heart and he will be able to acknowledge her choices and decisions and actions perfectly. My own heart was full of compassion and gratitude. I am eternally grateful for a wise Heavenly Father who doesn't expect us to be perfect in this world and knows of our struggles. I know that when I see Marilee again, she will have the enlightenment of eternity upon her and she will know the answers to all her questions. What a glorious possibility lies before us, to know and be known, to love and be loved, by one who is Almighty and Perfect! I was greatly comforted that day.

Now, on to Christmas! My St. George kids should be here within the hour, we have big plans for tomorrow and Sunday, and I am putting on my happiest face. "God bless us, every one!"