CAT scan machines: no fun and possibly dangerous?

The test used to detect cancer may also cause it. Little surprise there. In yet another one of life’s twisted schemes, the things that help us often turn out to be the things that hurt us.

According to recent reports, radiation from CAT scans is higher than previously thought and could be linked to increased cancer risk.

The cruel reality, though, is that for cancer patients — especially newbies like me — CAT scans are a regular part of life.

I get one every three months.

And when my doctor wants to gauge how well a drug is working.

And whenever my CA-125 — a protein found in ovarian cancer cells — is high.

And when I feel especially sick.

And, well, all the damn time.

Even for those in remission, CAT scans are a necessary part of staying cancer free. Generally, the protocol is a CAT scan every three months, then every six months for the first five years after treatment ends, and then once a year. Cancer and CAT scans go together like chemo and collapsed veins.

So what caused investigators to raise the alarm now? The report cited two reasons: Over the last two decades, the number of patients undergoing CAT scans has increased dramatically, from 3 million in 1980 to 70 million in 2007. That’s a heck of a lot of X-rays. Enough to cause concern within the medical community.

Equally alarming, the study noted, are all the unnecessary scans that have been going down. Allegedly, they’ll lead to 29,000 new cancer diagnoses this year, most of which will result from scans of the abdomen and pelvis — the only kind I get.

I’m starting to wonder what’s left in the world that isn’t potentially cancerous. From medical procedures to microwaves, there seems to be an unlimited number of cancer-causing agents.

Not long ago, I was talking to a professor whose book I’m editing. He’s a pretty fit 70-year-old who has been running marathons and eating healthy for the better part of his life. We met for lunch in Manhattan to talk business, and he couldn’t decide what to order. When I suggested that he try the smoked salmon salad, which I get all the time, he told me it was filled with carcinogens. Something about the smoking process, he began to explain, but I promptly checked out of the convo, because I eat smoked salmon all the time.

In fact, on a trip to Alaska in July, I’m sure I put away several pounds of the fatty, unctuous fish. Should I consider eliminating that, too?

Nah.

I’ve concluded, salmon fishers will be happy to know, that I should no more give up the foods I love than I should my quarterly X-rays. In my case, the benefits of both surely outweigh the harm.

And although that’s not true for the thousands who might be diagnosed with cancer as a result of radiation exposure, until some new and improved method of finding and monitoring malignant tumors is discovered, we’re left with few options besides limiting the number of scans we undergo.

That’s certainly my plan for 2010. Because as per my last X-ray images, I have no visible signs of the disease, which means I won’t be the CAT scan queen for much longer. The number of appointments I’ll have next year that involve exposing my organs to radiation should max out at two tops. And that’s fine by me.  I’m more than happy to renounce my title.

]]> http://cancerslayergyrl.com/2009/12/21/cat-scan-queen/feed/ 9 garciagyrl cat scan 2 http://cancerslayergyrl.com/2009/11/20/how-do-heroin-addicts-do-it/ http://cancerslayergyrl.com/2009/11/20/how-do-heroin-addicts-do-it/#comments Fri, 20 Nov 2009 22:47:11 +0000 garciagyrl http://cancerslayergyrl.com/?p=1228 ]]> After more than a year of chemotherapy, my precious veins are shot.

one of the worst parts of chemo

Those inch-long needles have done some serious damage to my once-healthy blood vessels, and the oncology nurses have informed me that they probably won’t recover.

Great. Stupid cancer is leaving a trail of damage in its wake.

Before I started treatment in 2008, though, I had juicy veins, the kind that got nurses excited. And I was not needle shy. I didn’t wince at the sight of them or groan when I got stuck. Since the times when I actually saw a syringe were few and far between, I’d decided not to be dramatic about the occasional shot.

That was then.

After a good 70 or so injections, hypodermic needles have taken the top position on my buzz-kill list. They hurt like hell, and because I anticipate the pain, I make myself anxious about it. You’d think that over time, I’d build up some sort of resistance to the pain, but the more I get stuck, the worse it gets. My veins have become extremely sensitive, and sometimes they stop working. Who knew that even happened?

There have been several occasions, for example, when I’ve gotten stuck, and the nurses were unable to get a blood return. That’s right. Needles have been inserted into my veins, and no blood came out. Talk about bizarre. Other times, the needles could barely penetrate my skin because I have so much scar tissue in my arms. The constant onslaught of chemo injections has caused my veins to harden and restrict. They’ve become difficult to find and even more difficult to access. And the pain. I whine like a baby now every time I see a syringe. So much for all my boasting about being a trouper. Those days are long over.

With all the sticks cancer patients endure, I couldn’t help but wonder how intravenous drug users do this on the regular. How do they cope with needles daily, likely several times a day, and how do their blood vessels hold up? I’ve heard about users having collapsed veins, but many manage to keep up their habit for years, even decades. Natalie Cole was a heroin addict for 15 years.

I asked one of my nurses why we don’t hear about more IV drug users being hospitalized for destroyed veins. Her answer was interesting and disturbing all at the same time. “Because they’re not putting poison in their veins,” she said. And then she clarified. “Not the same kind of poison.”

Word? Since when did chemo become worse than smack? Apparently since forever. It’s far more toxic, the nurse said, and thus does more harm. Plus, heroin addicts use any and all veins possible, whereas the veins used for chemotherapy are limited to the forearm.

Since beginning my little research project on blood vessels, I’ve come to appreciate how fascinating they are. Veins are our lifeblood, literally. They range in size from 1 mm to 1.5 centimeters, yet they’re responsible for one of the body’s biggest jobs: pumping blood to all our muscles and organs. These elastic vessels can also take a lot of abuse, but they retreat when they’ve had enough.

Two months ago, after my nurses spent more than 30 minutes and three painful tries searching for mine, they suggested (more than suggested actually) that I get a port, a device placed under the skin in the chest that is connected to the jugular vein. All my chemo goes in this way now. So instead of getting several pricks a month, I get one supersize needle that looks like a pushpin, gets clicked into place, and involves numbing cream. Not the most pleasant experience. But I have to say that it feels good to give my veins a break. Maybe they’ll come back to me. One can only hope, right?

I certainly have a newfound respect for blood vessels, as well as most of my anatomy now that cancer has forced me to get acquainted with parts I never spent time thinking about before. Over the last year and half, I’ve come to realize just how delicate the body can be and, more importantly, how resilient.