Say "cheese," brain.

We have a bad habit of coming to NIH and having things gum up. A couple weeks ago, on our last visit, an MRI was scheduled. Jeff has had at least four MRIs over the course of being diagnosed and serving as a vaccine study participant. Maybe five. But when I let slip that he got a bit of sterling silver installed in his ear 40 years ago for otosclerosis damage repair, and it turned out that NIH machines exude at least twice the magnetism of Georgetown machines, and after A called B, and B called C, and C called D, before D finally got back to A, our MRI was scratched in favor of a low-magnetism version next month. Instead that day, our major accomplishment was a second round of “convince the social work people we’re willing participants,” and sign some stuff. Which in itself is no small step.

Today, our final two PET scans were on the books. Yay, I was thinking. We’ll get all the scanny stuff, and all the related IV sticks out of the way in just one day, so we can finish up in June, wireless and drip-lineless.

No dice. All set, all stabbed, all peed and ready to go for scan one, it came to pass that the wizards who brew up radioactive injectable #1 had produced an inadequate quantity, thus tanking phase one of today’s 2 phase ordeal. So we are dozing in a chair, awaiting the passage of enough time that we can undergo what was to be scan #2 with a suitably empty stomach. Apparently injectable #2 is ready and waiting, and we’ll have accomplished ½ of what we were scheduled for.

Now the missing MRI and the missing scan are to be caboosed to days #1 and #2 of the neuropsych testing in June, and those, therefore, will be more exhausting days than we’d wished. Still, science ho! I presume our contribution will proceed as rescheduled, and we can officially retire from clinical research.

Because, frankly, I perceive our interest level and understanding of what we’re up to to be flagging like an untrained XC runner on the home stretch, so I’d counted on the easiest of final visits. It’s okay. I can be the Little Engine that Could, and get our circus train over that hill in June. It’s just that I’m starting to feel a little bit like a blue meanie, herding a volunteer who has no volition himself, but simply trusts me.

p.s. Scan #1, which was meant to be scan #2, is happening as I type. I sit here, watch the timer, and hope Jeff remembers to hold still so we don’t add any monkey wrenches to the tool clutter. Next: food.