Today I went for my PET scan at Paragon Medical, which is a super-uppity place (as if its location didn’t already tell you that). The lab I went to is so posh, they use Apple iMacs at the front desk. But I think they put Windows Vista on them, heehee!

In the cab on the way down, I realised that I have not been to Orchard for months. And today I saw Raffles Girls’ School for the first time. I’ve never had reason to go to that part of Stevens Road, so after 7 years in Singapore, today is the first time I clapped eyes on the building. I noted that its architecture style is almost identical to that of Raffles Girls’ Primary School, but of course.

As we hit Orchard proper, I saw another building for the first time, the monstrous growth of the title. It’s ION Orchard. It’s not just that it’s big. Vivocity is big, and I’ve grown to love its “arterial” façade. Rather, it was the giant “Dior” frontage and other brands that hit me like a crystal-studded Birkin bag to the face. It’s just so ostentatious. All these tai-tai brands screaming out their presence – that’s so pre-recession. Or maybe it’s just the fashion indie in me recoiling from such an overtly mainstream and consumerist display.

Anyway, I did not have to suffer this visual assault for long. The taxi driver turned in at Mount Elizabeth Hospital and I headed up to the 8th floor. While waiting for my turn, I read the information brochure and noted sadly that “a small plastic cannula will be placed in your arm or hand”. Well, at least I had some warning. I’d rather be forewarned and anxious than have an unpleasant surprise. I don’t like that kind of surprises.

When my turn came, they gave me a gown and led me to the locker room. Once changed, I went into a room with a bed, and the lady gave me a capsule. She kindly poured me some water to glug it down, and when I tasted the water I looked at her in horrified realisation. It was contrast material, the same yucky stuff I had to drink before my CT scan. The horror is not only due to the taste – I knew that there was more yucky liquid in my immediate future. They make you drink 3 big cups of it before they scan you. *sigh*

I lay down on the bed for a while, then the nurse came in to insert the cannula. “Which arm do you want?” I asked. The right arm was more convenient for her, so she tightened the tourniquet around my upper arm. Alcohol swab, and then the poke. Ow! I hadn’t expected her to go for my wrist! Man, that hurt. But at least she got it right the first time, so I didn’t suffer unnecessarily as compared to my last CT scan.

She dimmed the lights and left me in the room after she injected the radioactive tracer. You have to wait 1 hour for the cells to pick up the tracer, you see. I lay there, alone with my thoughts and a throbbing pain in my wrist. 20 minutes later I downed another cup of contrast material, following which I had to visit the toilet. When I came back they gave me the 3rd cup and ushered me outside. Finally, time for my scan.

I lay down on the moving bed with my arms raised above my head. Then they moved the bed into such a position that there was a wind blowing directly into my face. Not in the way a nice breeze blows across your face, this one was literally in my face and it was making me panicky, the way it interfered with my breathing.

“Hello?” I ventured softly. No answer. I waved my feet. No reaction from the people inside the room. But then the bed moved and I got away from the horrid wind, and they never moved me back into that position.

The scanning machine is like a CT scanner, doubled. There are 2 giant donuts instead of just one, and the wind was coming from a rubber pipe in the second donut. Anyway the scan’s pretty boring, it’s brief periods of moving through the donuts followed by long periods of not moving at all. Finally they released me, and once the doctor confirmed that the images were good, they served me Milo and Khong Guan crackers. I put aside the sugar crackers and had the cream crackers instead. The nurse removed my cannula, and I was good to go.

The reason why I had to go down to Orchard for a PET scan is because NUH is in the process of acquiring one, it’s not standard hospital equipment. Also, PET scans are apparently not subsidised by the government, making them very expensive for most patients. Anyway, my ordeal is almost over – I have a blood test on Monday and they will have to poke me for this one since the PICC line is gone. But, you know, I think cannulae are worse.

In the usual scheme of things, today would have been the beginning of another chemo cycle. But no more! Instead, today I had some blood drawn for a blood count and then I had my PICC line flushed and its dressing cleaned.

I shouldn’t have bothered, because Dr Koh ordered that my line be removed as it’s a potential source of infection. He actually said I wouldn’t be needing chemo any more, so out the line comes. Flushing and dressing costs money, you know, and I’m a bit peeved that we spent that money pretty much for nothing.

The nurse called me into the treatment room, where the outpatients get their chemo, and I sat there waiting for the doctor to arrive. I got the young lady doctor who calls me “little princess”. She’s not that much older than me, she told me so when she asked my age.

She cut the stitches (a rather tuggy affair), picked up a stack of swabs and positioned it over the site. And WHEEEE! Out came my line. The actual part that’s inside my vein is even thinner than indicated by the bit I could see coming out of the site. And unlike the removal of my femoral line, this time I couldn’t feel anything. There was a piece of suture thread left and she had to pull it out. It probably got stuck over the 4 months that it was in my arm, so she had to pull with some force. A bit icky, but not painful.

The nurse sprayed some permeable dressing over the site (yes, a sprayable dressing!) and I marvelled, “Oooh!”. The doctor commented that I had a lot of sound effects. Like that only fun mah! Then a pressure bandage went on. End of procedure.

So now I don’t have to worry about people gawking at my PICC line when I go out in public. The stares don’t hurt but it’s just annoying to catch people looking, because most of the time I don’t remember it’s there. But I’ll miss my PICC, especially when it comes to drawing blood! It is the return of the needle pricks!

Oh, the memories. Remember when I had it put in, and I swore when the anaesthetic needle went in? I have a perfectly good justification for that now! This article from Scientific American (another old buddy from my JC days) basically states that proper use of swearwords for situation where they are warranted actually reduces pain! I love science.

On Monday I went to see the doctor for my check-up, as usual.

I never made it into his office. While waiting for my turn at the blood draw (Monday mornings are always crowded at the Cancer Centre), I started seeing stars before my eyes.  The receptionist pointed me in the direction of a recliner chair, but I fainted before I made it there.

In fact, my mum says I had a fit, and the doctor confirmed that I was rather rigid when they got me into the procedure suite. Me? I thought I had fallen asleep and was having a noisy chaotic dream. I actually felt quite content, that I was able to sleep which was what I had been wanting for the past hour or so. Then someone stuck an electrode on my chest, and a voice said “It’s okay, she has a pulse.” Of course I have a pulse, I’m right here aren’t I? And then I started waking up.

I have a history of fainting, as my former schoolmates will attest, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a fit before. Most times I just go limp. And it wasn’t due to a sudden drop in blood pressure due to standing up suddenly, I was sitting down when I started feeling giddy. I just had a severe lack of blood, that’s all.

They admitted me into hospital for a blood transfusion, and now I owe the NUH blood bank a total of 4 bags of blood. (Actually no need to “pay back” wan, but I don’t feel nice la, blood is a precious resource you know.) The transfusion finished around midnight, the doctors came to see me in the morning and sent me on my merry way home. Now that I have a normal amount of blood and hemoglobin and red blood cells, I feel much better.

The regularity with which I collapse on checkup days makes it look like I’m some sort of drama queen who loves the attention, but it’s just a fact that my blood count drops in cycles, and the drop always coincides with checkup days. Also, when I’m at home I can lie down whenever I want, whereas I have to sit for prolonged periods in the waiting room. Then my heart has to do extra work to send blood to my brain.

Anyway, now that chemo is over and they gave me blood and my own blood factories should have started up production again, I don’t expect any more fainting in the future. It’s very tedious to not have enough blood – I always know when it happens because I get very tired very easily. No more chemo means no more unexpected collapsing means no more surprise hospitalizations!

Also, no more chemo and a normal blood count means I can eat pretty much anything I want now, yes yes? KFC relaunched the Bandito Pockett (sic) just in time. I am looking forward to eating it again, nyam nyam.