Today is CT Scan Day, or as I want to call it: Rodger Detector Day. That’s right, time for the medical equivalent of shining a torch under the bed to see what the monsters are up to. Except in this case, the monster is the C word, affectionately (or not so affectionately) known as Rodger the Dodger, and the torch is a giant spinning doughnut that could double as an extra for Doctor Who.

Matthew, my husband, is no stranger to strobe lights, having spent the first quarter of his life as a DJ. So, if anyone can handle being fed through a giant flashing tube, it’s him. I fully expect him to emerge from the scanner doing the classic “big fish, little fish, cardboard box” moves. Give the radiographer a show, why not? If you can’t have a bit of a rave in your hospital gown with your arse crack hanging out the back, when can you?

Meanwhile, I’ll be in the waiting room, trying my best to distract myself from the impending results. I will come armed with a book (of course), a notebook to write down ideas for more blog posts, and the hope that daytime TV is so mind-numbingly bad it’ll blot out all anxious thoughts. Either that or bore me to death with my last thought on Earth being “Why the fuck do people watch this brain-rotting shite”?

So, as we wait to see how far Rodger has invaded Matthew’s insides, please keep us in your prayers today. And if you happen to know any good jokes about spinning tubes or hospital gowns with questionable modesty, send them my way.

We’re always up for a laugh, even if it’s at our own expense.

We feel your love from afar, thank you!

Kate xx

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