Photo by LearningJohn
“Mr. Matthews?”
A man walks over. He’s 31, but to me he looks older than that. What do 31 year old’s look like anyway? He’s not that much older than me; we’re both born in the same decade. Is this what my friends and I are starting to look like?
“Hi, Could you please just tell me your name and date of birth?”
Formalities. He promptly recites them and I thank him.
“My name is Jasmine, I’m going to do your scan today. Have you ever had a CT before?”
“No, I haven’t actually. Maybe an MRI?”
“That’s cool, it’s really easy and much quicker than an MRI! I just need you to have a lie down, pop your head on this pillow and try and keep your head looking up and as straight as possible. You will go into this machine a couple of times. It’s a bit noisy, I’m sorry. Then when it’s all finished, I’ll come in and fetch you off the table.”
“Okay, thanks”
“So, do you know why your doctor has sent you to have this done today?”
“Yeah. I had to pull off onto the side of the road driving home yesterday because I’ve been having these intense headaches. I just, I felt blinded, and nauseous. It’s like a stabbing right behind my eye.”
“Okay, well hopefully we’ll be able to get some good pictures for you today and that will explain your headaches. How long has it been a problem?”
“Only 3 weeks”
“Okay, not a problem. Hey, you have an apple sticker attached to you! Is this a badge of honor for you?”
“Oh no!” he laughs, “my kids have been obsessed with stickers, I can’t get rid of them!”
I smile as I peel his life outside of this room away.
“Alright, I’m just going to move you in now, try and hold still for me.”
I step behind my shield. Heavy lead walls protect me from the outside radiation that allows me to see inside a patients entire existence. Who you are, what you are made of, what holds your shell together, and also what rips you apart.
It just kind of looked like a shadow, it didn’t scream at me, but I knew I had to look at it again. I sneak out and ask for a second opinion. “Yeah, you’re going to have to contrast that”. I hold steady and walk back in, “Hey, you don’t have anybody waiting do you? I just want to give you an injection of some contrast to highlight the blood vessels in your brain. It should only take a few more minutes.”
He smiles and agrees. We talk about his children’s sticker obsession. He has his ‘little man’ who is four, and his troublesome girl who is six. He’s convinced she is going to give him hell when she’s older because she already has a boyfriend. She turns seven on Monday and is very excited. He does that face where you can’t help but grin, even as you’re trying to grumble.
I sanitize his skin and slide a needle out of its sheath. His arm is warm to touch. “Do you have any trouble with blood tests?”
“No” he replies.
He’s a blood donor. He has a rare type of plasma that he goes to donate every month. O negative? Maybe positive, I can’t remember now. I congratulate him on his super special magic blood and thank him for being one of those people. I admit my misgivings of being pathetic and still having never done it, even though I always want to when I see the van outside work. He has exceptional veins; I selfishly appreciate that this will be easy for me. I inject him with the dye and go to take the last few pictures. I can feel my chipper expression melt away the second I turn my back. I think he knows; I think I’ve given something away.
“All done, I’ll take that cannula out of your arm if you don’t mind, and I’ll get you to wait for a CD to take back to your doctor. It should only take me about five minutes, I’ll bring it right out to you.”
He walks away and tomorrow morning he is going to be told he has a large inoperable brain tumor and soon he will die. All I can do is wait to get in my car, find myself halfway home, and cry and cry and cry.
Written by Jasmine Rose.
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