I reported for my CAT scan and was handed a very large paper cup of some kind of liquid. This was a dye, I was told, and I had to drink it. The cup was at least a pint, probably more. So I sat down and started drinking. YECCHH! The stuff tasted like flat diet 7-up with a metallic aftertaste. It was all I could do to keep swallowing it. But I finished, and brought the cup back to the receptionist. She handed me another full cup to drink.

I sighed, resigned to my fate. But before I started, I asked "Where's the bathroom?"

She shook her head. "Sorry, you can't go. Your bladder needs to be full for the scan."

"It's my chest that's being scanned," I replied. "As far as I know, my bladder isn't there!"

She was insistent. I could not use the bathroom until after the scan. And I had to finish that second cup of whatever-the-hell-it-was before I would get the scan. Having no choice, I drank.

Damn, I had to go!

The scanner looked like a gigantic metal disk with a hole in the center. A narrow pallet was in the hole, extending out to the patient area. I was instructed to lie on the pallet and remain very still while I was scanned.

Damn, I really had to go!

The room was cold. The pallet was colder. The paper cover stretched over the leather upholstery did little to insulate me from the cold, hard, narrow pallet. And the gossamer-thin hospital gown I was wearing afforded little warmth from the air-conditioning needed to properly cool the scanner.

Damn, I really, really had to go!

The pallet slowly moved me into position. Each scan, I was told, takes about four seconds. I would be told when to take a deep breath and hold it before each scan. I would need to hold very still while the scan completed. Then I could let it out.

Lord grant me strength, because I really have to go!

In the middle of the tenth scan, the scanner broke down. I believe it was some kind if software glitch. Hey, how about that, software was crashing long before Windows or Microsoft became ubiquitous. I don't know what they had to do, but it took a while to get fixed. At least, it seemed like a long time as I lay on the pallet in the cold of the CAT Scan room.

Please, please, PLEASE hurry up and fix this thing, because I really have to go!

Eventually the problem was fixed and the scanning continued. It took another ten minutes to complete the study. The pallet emerged from the scanner and I was told I could get off. I asked the tech to please point out the nearest men's room, which he did. I dashed for the room in a frenzy and didn't stop until I was at the toilet. Then I let loose.

I don't think I ever urinated as much or as forcefully before or since. Nor do I remember any trip to the bathroom ever being so profoundly relieving. It seemed like I eliminated at least twice as much as I took in.

Five minutes later I had to go again. I needed to relieve myself every five minutes for the next hour.

There was a bottom line to all these tests. My cancer was definitely confined to the two locations we already knew about. It hadn't spread.

The tests were done. Now it was time to get treated. Dr. Harris told me that he had presented my case to the Tumor Board. They recommended radiation therapy. So I was referred to a radiation oncologist, Dr. Richter.