IN WHICH BEAR MEETS A CAT

I feel so silly about this, that it's taken we a while to write. Really, it is all quite bizarre.

Yesterday morning, a technician hauled invited me into a procedure room, and helped me onto a movable table. Then she brought in a huge, black Labrador Retriever. He jumped up on the table, sniffed and licked different parts of me, and gave his Lab report. 

Then she brought in the Cat. She took it out of it's crate and ran it over me twice, to get the CAT Scan. And I didn't get scratched once. (Well behaved cat, actually.)

It was one of those days.

Actually, though, that's not what happened. Not at all.

You see, a couple of delightful looking Humans filled me up with something called a "contrast medium." (I think that's doctorese for "dye.") It would be a tastier drink with something in it like cranberry juice, or bourbon (if you can tolerate bourbon). 

Then, another technician ran the moveable table back and forth through a huge donut with the label "Siemens" on it, while I held my breath. (I did that, not because of being scared, but because some voice, which appeared out of nowhere, told me to hold my breath.) The experience was sort of like ducking your head as you go under a low door frame or ceiling. Nothing about which someone — Human or Bear — should get excited.

Anyhow, the machine, called a "SOMATOM," produced a Computed Tomography (CT) scan, or series of scans. (But, no, I didn't get to eat a piece of the donut for being a good Bear.)

Siemens SOMATOM, from the company web site.

The "pictures," according to the technician, who had talked to the radiologist, were just fine. So they let me go.

I see my surgical specialist a week from this Monday — ten days, roughly. Then I find out what that all meant. Which, I suppose, is not much of anything. But what does a Bear really know?

Ironically, they're doing all that diagnostic work when my pancreas is feeling much better. But not entirely well. And it is important that one have a functional pancreas. The pancreas produces a number of enzymes (and the like) which help to digest the food. The Islets of Langerhans in the pancreas produce insulin, which keeps one from becoming diabetic. But if the enzymes cannot reach the intestines, to digest food, they will start to "digest" the pancreas itself. Which is painful, and a whole lot of "not fun," as well as "not a good thing."

Anyhow, after several months of mild to (occasionally) extreme pain, we may be closer to having an answer for what is making your friendly, neighbourhood Bear so uncomfortable. And, yes, I will bore you with the details. (That's a promise.) 

In the meantime, blessings and Bear hugs!