Health

PET scan: Confirmed, I am not a house cat

Just 17 hours after my Pulmonary Function Test, I was out and about for a PET scan (Wikipedia link) at 8 a.m. this morning.

PET stands for Positron Emission Topography, which sounds both futuristic and maybe not something done on a human body, necessarily. But it is! And it would be done on my human body this morning.

Transit connections were unusually good, so I got to the lab early and filled out a form in Waiting Room 1. After this, I was directed to Waiting Room 2. I briefly wondered how many waiting rooms there would be (there are two). But even before 8 a.m. arrived, I was whisked off to what I will call The Chair Room. The central object in The Chair Room is, you may have guessed, a chair. Specifically, a large black easy chair, complete with cupholder. There is a reason it is a big comfy chair and that reason is you spend close to an hour sitting in it and being very still.

I knew the process because I’d read the email they sent beforehand, and despite fasting, I was not really hungry yet, though I was a tad thirsty. The first lab person showed up to insert the IV. This is now old school for me, after having IVs this year for a CT scan, an MRI and an ongoing one for 11 days (that had to be replaced partway through) when dealing with the kidney infection in January. I was nonplussed and told her she could use the left arm.

If you’ve never had an IV before, the process usually takes a few seconds. If it takes longer, something has gone wrong.

It was taking more than a few seconds. There was pain, but more like an annoying sting. She worked on that left arm for what felt like about a minute. That doesn’t sound like a long time, but remember, this is with a sharp needle being repeatedly worked into your flesh.

She finally gave up and switched to the right arm. The IV was inserted in a few seconds. Apparently, the selected vein in my left arm was big and strong, but also had a tendency to “roll” when she attempted to get the IV into it. Those pesky veins always causing trouble.

My blood sugar was measured, because if it’s 11 or higher, it complicates things. Mine was 5.6, which is well below their threshold and also a little below the regular threshold of pre-diabetic (my blood sugar has always skewed high for some reason. Maybe I’m just a really sweet guy).

Next was waiting. I am unsure why, but at this point I was left in the room with the IV inserted and had to wait for about 15 minutes.

Another tech showed up to administer the radioisotope tracer (nuclear medicine!) I believe it was Fluorodeoxyglucose, which is used when trying to detect cancer. It took about 30 seconds to go through the IV. Interestingly, once the drip started, the tech stepped out of the room and stood by the doorway until it was complete. I was now radioactive and would be for about the next 12 hours. I was warned I would feel a cold sensation in my arm as the nuclear juice was delivered, and I did, but the sensation was pretty mild.

The next part was the real waiting. I was to sit still and let the tracer work its way through my body. I was told to stay still and move as little as possible. I asked if I could read. That got a frowny face, so I was left with the lights dimmed, alone with my own thoughts.

Time passed quicker than expected, but that’s because about 15 minutes before the final part, yet another tech showed up and directed me to the washroom, to pee. I did so. Then I sat back in the chair in The Chair Room. Roughly an hour and a half after starting, the first tech returned and took me to the PET room.

The scanner looked pretty much exactly like the one in the Wikipedia article, except with me in it:

It looks like a 3D rendered model in person, too.

I doffed my cap, watch and glasses and laid down on the bed. I was told it would take around 15–20 minutes and there would be some noise. My legs were propped up and, somewhat annoyingly, I had to hold my arms above my head, like I was being put on a rack. This is not the most comfortable position to hold for 15–20 minutes.

After being told to breathe normally, the bed slid in, the machine lit up, hummed, and started doing its thing. It moved me back and forth a few times and at one point, near the end, my head was mostly sticking out the back end and nothing seemed to be happening, but I assumed it was. Then, just as I was getting close to asking if something had broken down, the bed moved me fully back under the donut for the last few minutes.

Overall, the experience was not pleasant, but it was pleasant compared to the MRI. The tube did not feel claustrophobic at all, the noises the machine made were mostly soft hums and gentle thunks. Occasionally, it would light up brightly, but the light was soft, like “Walk into the light” light. I didn’t have anything annoyingly attached to me, like a camera or IV. And it ended before my arms cramped up.

I felt a little lightheaded after, but that was probably more from being hungry than anything.

I celebrated getting through the PET scan by having an Egg McMuffin. Not there, at the lab, though that would have been extremely convenient, but at a nearby McDonald’s. I tried to avoid pregnant women and children after leaving the lab, which I was advised to do for about six hours. As I type this, I am confident there are no pregnant women or children in imminent danger of getting irradiated by my presence.

I will have the results in about five business days.

Next up: I rate CT scans, MRIs and PET scans on various criteria. Find out which wins each category. Coming Soon™.

My Pulmonary Function Test (PFT for me, not thee)

Today, the cavalcade of medical fun that has characterized 2025 for me continued, with my first ever PFT.

It’s basically 20 minutes of breathing in various ways and will probably be the most innocuous medical test I’ll ever undergo. It did leave me a little lightheaded, though.

I made my way to Vancouver General Hospital and found that I was very early for my appointment. I figured this was a sign that I wouldn’t be able to find Section 3 easily and would need the extra time to navigate. I was somewhat right.

When I did find Section 3 (a nice shade of green, not hospital green), I was still about half an hour early. I filled out a form and then amused myself in the waiting room with my own thoughts, since cell phone use is forbidden in this particular part of the hospital. It’s also one level underground and concrete, so reception may have been dicey, anyway.

While I waited, an older man went to the reception desk. The woman there carefully explained that he didn’t need to be there, as it is his wife who is being looked at for something. She said his wife would get a call tomorrow. He nodded, then headed off.

And returned, where she explained all of this again. He again headed off. But there was something about his gait that, as the kids would say, seemed a little suss.

You guessed it–he returned a third time. She was very patient with this not-patient. He finally shuffled off for good. Or for at least as long as I was there.

A very short woman with tall pants came out about 15 minutes before my appointment–yay–and brought me into a small exam room. In the corner was a glass booth with a seat and some apparatus at about mouth level. She asked for my height and weight and I sat in the booth, with the door open. She put a pair of plugs on my nose and had me test the mouthpiece (kind of like a fixed snorkel) to make sure it was positioned correctly. We began.

The setup looked a lot like this image I found. The mouthpiece is apparently part of a thingie called a spirometer. Fortunately, I didn’t have to hold the mouthpiece like this guy, who, yes, I’m going to say it, totally looks like he’s practising a blow job.

For the testing, I would breathe normally, or at least as normally as I could with my nose clipped shut and my mouth wrapped around a snorkel thing. Then she would tell me to breathe in deeply. She would accentuate this by saying, in a very excited tone, “Breathe in! Up UP UP UP UP!” until it was time to breathe out (sharply). She would switch to, “Out out OUT OUT OUT OUT!” past the point that seemed reasonable to me, but I am not a breathologist. I coughed on one of the first extreme exhalations and swallowed some spit. She asked if I needed water. I said no. I surprised myself by being right.

There were also a few times she had me suck in some sort of spray stuff that can affect your breathing. It was relatively flavorless. I’m glad I don’t have to use inhalers.

After the first few minutes, she declared the plugs inadequate and swapped them out for ones that clamped more firmly. I wasn’t sure I liked the new plugs.

A few of the tests required me to breathe in deeply, hold my breath, then exhale. These required the door of the glass booth to be closed. Because it is glass, I didn’t feel claustrophobic, more like a bizarre modern art exhibit, like “Man’s struggle with technology” or something. The mouthpiece I sucked on would become interactive during these tests, sending a weird pop of air at my mouth at the end, as if to say, “That’s enough!”

I had to redo a few of the tests because I wasn’t quite hitting the mark on a few of them, like a diva missing the high notes of an aria. The testing lady was very understanding. It still went fairly quickly. She ended it by saying I was done and just left. I also left and she reminded me to take my bag, which I then went back for. I got the feeling this was someone who missed no detail.

The whole experience was odd, everything about it felt unnatural, skirting right on the edge of being actively unpleasant without ever crossing it.

As mentioned, I felt a little lightheaded, but that was all. Still, I won’t be sad if I never have another PFT. Pfft to PFT, one might say.

Weight loss report, November 2025: Unchanged

The good news, such as it is, is that my weight didn’t budge from the beginning of the month to the end.

The bad news, of course, is that I was up over 3 pounds the previous month, which means I am still effectively up. I was trending back down for the first half of November, but I sought retreat in the comfort of food (mmm, food) in the second half, as stress took its toll on me, and a kind of ennui crept in. I think I’ve shaken most of it off now, but looking ahead, December is not historically known as a slimming month.

And I really want some shortbread cookies.

Still, despite standing still, some encouraging signs:

  • Body fat actually declined
  • BMI (a stat some view as a bit dubious, admittedly) did not change
  • Muscle mass climbed a tiny bit, which is fine, because I don’t expect it to ever move much, but up is always better than down

For December, I vow to remain donut-free, but my (lofty?) goal of hitting 150 pounds this year is not going to happen unless I spontaneously have liposuction and plenty of it. But if I can at least be down in weight for the year, I will build on that in 2026, The Year That Has To Be Better Than 2025.

Stats:

January 1, 2025: 166.8 pounds

Current: 166.2 pounds
Year to date: Down 0.6 pounds

November 1: 166.2 pounds
November 30: 166.2 pounds (unchanged)

Body fat: 
November 1: 24.7%
November 30: 23.4 (down 1.3%)

Skeletal muscle mass:
November 1: 29.6 kg
November 30: 29.6 kg (up 0.3 kg)

BMI:
November 1: 23.8
November 30: 23.8 (unchanged)

Historical: January 1, 2022: 182.8 pounds

Funky

This morning, as I went through my usual routines, it occurred to me that I might be in a funk. It’s funny how these things sneak up on you. It’s like being in a store and realizing they are playing Christmas music, then running, screaming, from the store.

Well, maybe not quite like that.

I’m no funkologist and my self-diagnosis could be off, but I think it’s a combo of factors:

  • Stress from various sources has been accruing.
  • My diet (re: snacking) has deteriorated as I seek comfort in delicious calories.
  • The urge to pursue creative stuff (drawing, writing–such as on this blog) has waned in favour of more passive pursuits–not exactly doomscrolling, but maybe things adjacent to that.
  • I have missed a few runs due to circumstances, but yesterday I just did not go. This is probably the biggest warning sign. Running is a very Zen pursuit for me, so deliberately avoiding it is a good signal that something is amiss1Not counting not wanting to run in torrential rain, which has happened a few times lately.

I don’t think I can pin the start on any one thing, but perhaps a tipping point may have been when I chatted with the cardiothoracic surgeon and got confirmation that surgery is in my future, barring some imminent breakthrough in medical technology. I think it has rattled me, because it’s made me start going through various “What if?” scenarios where the harmless little blob to be removed may be less than harmless. Or more broadly, it’s possibly set off subconscious thoughts about mortality in general. I’m not sure. The brain is a strange place.

But being aware is the start of making changes for the better, so here I am writing, even if it’s just to acknowledge the thing, hopefully with more helpful changes to come. And I promise not to buy Pop-Tarts, even if they are on sale.

In conclusion, writing cat:

My year of interesting health issues continues

Yesterday I had an appointment at VGH1Vancouver General Hospital with a cardiothoracic surgeon, a title I did not know existed until the appointment was made by my family doctor.

We have to go back slightly over one year (and in reality, even further back than that to some unknown time) to trace up to yesterday’s visit to the above-mentioned surgeon.

In December 2024 I experienced what seemed like a prostate infection and was treated as such. For a time, the antibiotics worked, then they very much stopped working. I had blood work done and was re-diagnosed as having a bladder infection and took more antibiotics.

Then, for fun, on December 30th I tripped on a cracked section of sidewalk during my first run in four weeks, banging up both hands nicely.

In January, the antibiotics stopped working again. I ended up at the ER of Burnaby Hospital early in the morning, in a state of mild delirium brought on by fever. This time the big guns came out…more blood work, of course, but also a CT scan.

The infection had spread to my kidneys, which required antibiotics delivered by IV (which lasted for 11 days), and the good news there is that the treatment ended my infection story for 2024/2025–unless something happens in the next month.

But the CT scan also revealed something unexpected–a small mass near the top of my chest, just over 2cm in diameter. My family doctor did not think it was serious, so ordered an MRI on a low priority basis. It took 10 months to happen, as noted here.

Ironically, the MRI was inconclusive.

But that catches us up to yesterday, in which the surgeon told me:

  • More blood work will be done, to detect for markers that would indicate if the mass is cancerous. The surgeon doesn’t think so, but wants to be sure.
  • I will get another CT scan, at VGH or possibly UBC, due to the MRI being inconclusive.
  • Another test will be done at a cancer clinic that may take a while before it gets scheduled. He used words I’d never heard before, I may go back to ask for more details on this.
  • Surgery! The S word!

He explained a couple of things regarding the surgery:

  • Cancer is not malignant or benign, but exists on a spectrum. He thinks the lump I have falls on the benign side, but could still cause issues.
  • Asking nicely will not make it leave (OK, he didn’t say this, but I was thinking it)
  • He described the old-style surgery: cutting open the sternum (breastbone) and yoinking it out. While cutting open the sternum is not dangerous, it does make for a more complicated procedure and recovery.
  • He then described the new-style surgery:
    • Going in through the side–no bone-sawing needed!
    • Surgery time: 2-3 hours
    • Recovery in hospital: Typically a few days
    • Recovery at home after: About two weeks
    • After recovery, all regular activities can be resumed

I am not keen on getting surgery–it will be a first for me–but if it’s gotta be done, it’s gotta be done. For now I await the sheet for the next round of blood work.

Between getting blood taken and various IVs, I have probably been stabbed at least 8-10 times this year, with more to come. I would not have predicted this a year ago, and if I had such powers of prediction, I would have picked winning lottery numbers instead.

Here’s to 2026 being The Year In Which My Health Is Very Boring And Normal.

Weight loss report, October 2025: Up 3.1 pounds

Yes, it looks bad, like I’ve been secretly eating donuts. But I have remained donut-free.

What happened is: Bodies are weird, and I gained two pounds in the last two days. Has my diet (as in eating regime, not a fad diet) gone off the rails? No, but these things happen, anyway.

Bad: Body fat is over 25% again (I have not remained 100% snack-free)

Good: Muscle mass is up! Probably entirely in my calves, my very sexy calves.

I think I can still get below 160 pounds before the end of the year. I won’t have long to find out!

January 1, 2025: 166.8 pounds

Current: 165.8 pounds
Year to date: Down 1.0 pounds

October 1: 162.7 pounds
October 31: 165.8 pounds (up 3.1 pounds)

Body fat: 
October 1: 24.5%
October 31: 25.3% (up 0.8%)

Skeletal muscle mass:
October 1: 29.2 kg
October 31: 29.5 kg (up 0.3 kg)

BMI:
October 1: 23.3
October 31: 23.7 (up 0.4)

Historical: January 1, 2022: 182.8 pounds

How barfing taught me a lesson

Two years ago, I got a combo flu/COVID-19 shot (two separate shots, just given at the same appointment). It went without incident, and I had an extra layer of protection through the flu season. Nice, I thought.

Last year I kept rescheduling the shots for reasons, then I got an infection (that wandered) and that distracted me, so I never did get vaccinated for that flu season.

We move forward to May 21st of this year, when I apparently caught a bug from my partner, resulting in me barfing copiously one memorable evening. I wondered afterward how I would have been hit if I had been properly vaccinated.

This month, when I got the reminder to get vaccinated from the provincial government, I booked an appointment as soon as I could and as I type this now I have two little round band-aids on my left arm from the shots.

I like to think I will never stop learning, even if I live to be 150 or a head in a jar, whichever comes first. And today, I demonstrated that all it takes for me is a gentle reminder in the form of remembering what it was like to spend a night violently emptying the contents of my stomach.

I got vaccinated. You should, too!

Also, this gives me another chance to show one of my favourite ill-conceived ads for flu prevention:

Calm is the bomb (also, an MRI update)

Calm is the bomb. Serene is keen.

These are thoughts I had today while out on a walk. It is mild out and we are between showers. I’ve been thinking about how the world at both the macro and micro levels are somewhat of a dumpster fire, and how that makes me angry. But I need to recognize that anger and do things to channel it productively. And I will, starting with this post by writing the thought out.

***

Also, here is my MRI update:

I got a call from the doctor today (phone appointment) and correctly predicted a few things:

  • The MRI would be inconclusive (it was)
  • Further testing would be needed (it is)
  • Said tests might include a biopsy (this was mentioned)

What the doc confirmed:

  • The mass in my chest (about 2 cm around) is not affecting anything else around it
  • It has not changed size since the CT scan back on (checks blog entry) January 9th
  • It could be a tumour (cue Arnold saying, “It’s not a too-mah!”)
  • If a tumour, it could be cancer (benign or otherwise)

I am not overly concerned, because I had recent blood work that came back negative, this lump has not grown, nor has it had any impact. But you never know, and that’s what makes our bodies so mysterious and magical.

Next up:

  • Another CT scan
  • Consultation with a thoracic surgeon to see what they think
  • Possibly a biopsy, depending on the above
  • Ice cream. I’ll need ice cream at the end of this.

In conclusion: Our meatbag bodies are kind of dumb. Here’s a nice fall photo:

I ate a McVeggie Burger. I have questions.

My McVeggie burger did not radiate or glow (to my knowledge).

The obvious question from readers would be: Why? And my answer would be to see what magic McDonald’s could work on a “healthy” burger option.

My own question, though, is different. How can a McVeggie burger have only 10 fewer calories than a McChicken? Observe:

  • McChicken: 480 calories
  • McVeggie: 470 calories
  • Filet-o-Fish: 400 calories

And keep in mind, 90% of the calories in the Filet-o-Fish come from the giant blob of tartar sauce they put on each one, and it’s still 70 calories less.

Given that this is not the calorie-friendly delight you might hope for (it was slathered in the same volume of mayo as a McChicken), how did it taste?

It tasted fine. I think the spicy variant might be better, because it’s probably not hot, but may add a little more kick to it. As it is, it was OK and given the high calorie count, I’d only opt for this if I swore off being a meat-loving hedonist. Next time I’ll go for a Sausage and Egg McMuffin (440 calories). In the meantime, I ponder the market for a healthy option that is nearly 500 calories.

I had an MRI today. If I never have another, I will not lament the fact.

Clip art almost makes it look fun. It is not fun.

Today I journeyed to downtown Vancouver, to St. Paul’s Hospital, where I had my first-ever MRI.

The staff were very polite, friendly and professional. Everything was explained to me in detail. I squished the provided earplugs into my ears, then donned the headphones, through which they would speak breathing instructions to me. The process took roughly 30 minutes.

After changing into a hospital shirt and pants, which made me look like an extra from Scrubs, and removing my watch and glasses, I laid down on the bed of the MRI machine. They would be doing a “contrast” thing near the end, which required an IV, so dye could be injected into the bloodstream. My bloodstream. At this point, getting an IV just makes me shrug. Even the contrast thing was no big deal, as they had done the same when I got my CT scan earlier this year and that one made me feel like I had peed myself, which this one did not. I told them to use whichever arm was more veiny when they asked if I had a preference for where I wanted to be stabbed. They went left, as they usually do.

With the IV inserted, they placed a camera on my chest and strapped it to the bed. They assured me the straps were for the camera, not to restrain me. They finally put a squeeze ball on a cord into my right hand which I could use to alert them if I suddenly needed to pee like no one’s business, panic or otherwise pause the procedure.

With these things done, off I went into the tube, and it became extremely clear why the questionnaire you fill in advance out asks if you’re claustrophobic, because once I was in, all I could see was the curving contour of the tube not far above my face, and nothing else. One staffer said most people just close their eyes, which I did.

There is no danger in falling asleep, though, as at regular intervals (which they warned me of when they came up) the machine would clatter, clank and hum like industrial music, loud even through the earplugs and headphones.

When the machine wasn’t revving up to maximum Magnetic Racket Index, I was asked to breath in deep and hold my breath. I was pretty good at this, though it felt like I had to hold my breath for a long time. This left me a bit light-headed by the end, though I didn’t realize it until I tried getting off the bed when it was over. The guy who gave me the IV had to help me sit up.

When it came time for the injection, I was told that some people feel a salty taste in their mouths. I didn’t taste anything, but was asked if I was OK. I said yes. I think I was asked, because I did feel something, but couldn’t really name it. Whatever it was, it made my heart rate jump for a few seconds, hence the inquiry (I suspect). The best I can do to describe it is that for about five seconds, I felt rather weird.

It wrapped up shortly after the dye injection. I got a very nicely-applied translucent bandage over the IV insertion point and told my doctor would get the results in about a week.

Overall, it wasn’t a pleasant experience, but I think I did pretty good at just laying there like a potato while the machine made its noises and did its thing. I would not be sad if I never faced another MRI, though.

The bandage:

Weight loss report, September 2025: Down 2.1 pounds

Except for muscle mass, which has dipped slightly, all the stats are improved this month, yay, with my weight dropping a nice 2.1 pounds. I was down to as low as 162.9 at one point, but alas, ran out of days before I could get back there.

September was easily one of my most active months of the year, with only a few runs missed, and plenty of walking. I think the exercise helped, if not in terms of actually losing weight, then perhaps in terms of keeping from gaining. I did snack a bit (including cursed Pop Tarts) but never strayed far off the track when it came to the occasional indulgence.

I feel like I am in a good position to finally get below 160 pounds in October, and officially be less than 10 pounds from my intended goal of 150. We’ll see.

Meanwhile, no donuts!

(I did have one donut this year.)

Stats:

January 1, 2025: 166.8 pounds

Current: 163.4 pounds
Year to date: Down 3.4 pounds

September 1: 165.5 pounds
September 30: 163.4 pounds (down 2.1 pounds)

Body fat: 
September 1: 24.9%
September 30: 24.6% (down 0.3%)

Skeletal muscle mass:
September 1: 29.5 kg
September 30: 29.3 kg (down 0.2 kg)

BMI:
September 1: 23.7
September 30: 23.4 (down 0.3)

Historical: January 1, 2022: 182.8 pounds

Air quality: We don’t need no stinkin’ air quality

Or to be more precise, the air quality currently stinks, due to smoke.

This morning, the Air Quality Index (AQI) was 3, which is a bit higher than normal. It is now 9, and shows thusly on my iPhone:

High Health Risk! Yikes. Also, it was very warm and muggy, which is probably contributing. The AQ map looks very angry:

I do not live in a Magic 8 ball, despite appearances.

I went for a walk and it smelled just like that map:

The smoke is coming from wildfires, so in a way, we’re lucky that it didn’t get here until relatively late in the season. It’s likely to persist until we see a significant change in the weather (showers, etc.) All part of the magic of climate change!