Doing the Barium Two-Step

Monday, July 30: We're back at the clinic for the CT and chest X-ray. I was up at 6:00 a.m. to drink half of the jug of "Readi-cat" - a Barium Sulfate Suspension. It's white, sort of the consistency of thick milk, and smells vaguely of grapefruit. I'm supposed to drink one half of it 2 hours before the procedure, and the other half one hour before. The instructions warned that it "may cause diarrhea ."

Yeah, like the Pope may be Catholic.

I drink the rest of the Barium at 7:00. It would have been nicer if they had labeled on the jug just where the halfway mark was, because I underestimated the first dose, and start gagging as I try to force the last couple swallows down. Nasty stuff - an odd flavor and an odd texture. But no after effects.

Dayton reminds me that we have to leave by 7:20 in order to get to the clinic by 8:00. I hurry to get cleaned up, and just before it's time to leave, I visit the bathroom one more time.

That's when the diarrhea hits. The word "geyser" comes to mind.

We're a little late for the appointment. As we check in, I'm doing the bouncy little Barium two-step again. The clerk and the technician are pleasant, and I'm pleasant right back. "Sorry we're late, it's that lovely stuff you had me drink," they laugh back, "oh, yes, doesn't it have a great effect," and I chuckle and bounce a little more, "so, is there a bathroom I could use," and they say, "oh, sure, we'll take you back in a bit," and my smile becomes more of a grimace and I say pleasantly but with a bit more force, "do you think I could see that bathroom real soon, like in the next 60 seconds?" And they technician really LOOKS at me, not just the generic patient waiting for the first opening, and says, "Oh, honey, sure thing, come on with me," and I barely say goodbye to Dayton as I bounce after her.

Flush toilets. What a wonderful invention.

Laura is the technician and she takes me into the CT room. There is a narrow, cushioned bed pointing into to a large, donut-shaped apparatus. Laura has me sit down on the bed, and gives me one more cup of the barium solution. "Just try to get down a couple swallows so we have it in your stomach." I choke down half the cup, then she has me lie down on the bed, and places a cushion beneath my knees. It's a surprisingly comfortable position. She brings a sheet over, and has me cover my middle, then asks me to unzip and slide my shorts down to my knees. "So the metal doesn't get in the way of the imaging." I get to keep my underpants on, and that feels like a small triumph.

The bed is then raised, and Laura cautions me not to try to get out of it because I am fairly high in the air. She goes in and out of the room, adjusting my arms - up over my head, now over my chest, now rest them on the side of the machine. Somebody with a sense of humor has pasted a dog sticker right below the laser panel, so I have something to look at. Occasionally a mechanical voice issues a command. "Hold your breath." I do. "Breathe!" I do. Who am I to argue with a machine that outweighs me by probably several thousand pounds? Although I would have programmed it to say, "Now, please, take a deep breath and hold it. OK, now let it go and breath normally." Of course, that would take longer.

Laura comes back in. "Now we're going to insert the iodine into your system and get the rest of the images. Some people feel a warm flush starting at the back of their neck and reaching to their groin." She turns my right arm towards her, and I brace for the needle. "These are thick needles, and sometimes it's a little tough to get them in. There, all set."

Another blessing from this process. I have been through so much other pain, that the stick of the needle barely registered. I'm even able to look at it- well, for a second, at least. I'm not that brave!

Not only that, but as the iodine enters my system, I do feel that warm flush. It feels wonderful, and it washes away the crampiness. I could stay here all day.

Again Laura leaves the room, and the machine barks its commands. "Hold your breath! Breathe! Hold your breath! Breathe!" The table slides in and out of the donut hole, and I am so comfortable that I could take a nap. This is NOT what I expected.

We're finished, and Laura lowers the bed, and helps me sit up. I feel a little dizzy at first, then get my balance. Laura helps me to my feet. "You're having a chest X-ray next, I'll walk you over there and get you settled." As we leave the room, I spot a large candy jar. "May I have one?" She laughs. "Of course, we think everybody deserves a treat! Take one for your husband, too." That's actually what I take it for, I don't generally eat candy myself.

Except for chocolate. And I seem to have lost my taste for it these past few days. Now that's a major tragedy!

In the woman's dressing room, Laura shows me to a cubicle, and directs me to take off everything above the waist - hey, now that's different! - and put on a gown and robe. Then I wait for the next technician. I've brought a book to while away the time, and it's a good thing. There are magazines here, but all about childbearing and child rearing.

Anne comes to get me for the Chest X-ray. I've had these done before, and it's no big deal. Stand in front of the screen, now stand sideways. All done! She points the way back to the dressing room and tells me I'm free to go.

We're out of the clinic by 9:30. I stop by Dr. B's office as instructed to let him know that I've had the tests done, and then we head for breakfast and home. And several more trips to the bathroom - it takes hours for the barium to finish working through my system. The iodine seems to put a damper on the cramps for the rest of the day, another unexpected blessing.

And my daily afternoon nap. It's becoming a necessity rather than a luxury.