Practicing Medicine

Today was my appointment for the CT scan of my abdomen—the test ordered by my GI doctor to explore the lingering pain and symptoms I’ve been experiencing. I’ve had so many tests lately, but walking into radiology today felt different.

As I checked in and was led back to the prep area, I recognized some of the staff. People I’d worked with years ago, back when my life felt more “normal,” before my name was printed on wristbands and charts as a patient. It’s funny how roles reverse, how the caregiver becomes the one needing care.

One of my former colleagues was assigned to start my IV. I smiled when I saw him. He greeted me warmly, his bedside manner just as I remembered: patient, gentle, confident. Even though I knew the procedure, knew the drill, knew what was coming, he walked me through every step like it was my first time. And somehow, that made it easier.

When the scan was complete, they handed me a paper with instructions:
“Drink 4 to 5 16oz bottles of water—or 2.5 liters of water—over the next 24 hours.”

Simple instructions. But as I walked to my car, I realized: out of all the procedures, scans, ports, IVs I’ve had over these months, no one had ever given me post-test hydration or maintenance guidance before.

Why today? Why this scan? Why not after my chemo infusions or other contrast studies? It left me wondering how many little pieces of information patients miss simply because no one thinks to tell them. It also made me quietly grateful for a tech who didn’t rush, who treated me like a person, not just an appointment slot.

Today wasn’t monumental. It wasn’t a dramatic test or a life-altering moment. It was a piece of the puzzle, that reminded me that sometimes, even in the routine, there’s kindness. There’s care. There’s grace in the small gestures.

So for now, I guess I’ll keep drinking my water and wait for the results.