Today, I completed another step on the road to my breast reconstruction surgery: a CT scan of my pelvis. The CT scan will identify where the blood vessels are in my belly. During the reconstruction surgery, my plastic surgeon will remove two flaps of fat and tissue from my belly and reconnect their blood vessels to blood vessels in my chest. Then my surgeon will give the transplanted flaps of tissue a breast shape.

I arrived at the Civic Campus of The Ottawa Hospital at 4:20 PM. My appointment was scheduled for 4:40 PM, but I was asked to arrive 20 minutes early. I'm glad I did. Within minutes of checking in and settling in the waiting area, a lovely radiology technologist named Dalton called me. As we walked to the scan room, I asked him about his name, Dalton being an uncommon one. "Is it Irish?" I enquired. He didn't know. He knew only that his parents had seen it in a book of baby names and loved it.

Curious about the origin of the name Dalton, I looked it up this evening. The Bump described it as British in origin, saying: "As dapper as the British surname it's derived from, Dalton is a smart and trendy boy's name with equal parts cool and nerdy. Dalton comes from the Old English dæl, "valley," and tūn, "settlement," and was a surname borne by aristocratic families and landholders throughout England."

I wouldn't describe radiology technologist Dalton as either cool or nerdy. He was kind, efficient and attentive. He explained the procedure in clear, simple terms. When he asked whether I had any questions, I did. I told him that I imagined that if there were any incidental findings, such as a recurrence of tumours associated with ovarian cancer, they would see them in the scan. Yes, he said, they do sometimes have incidental findings, something that they aren't looking for but encounter as part of the imaging process. I told him of my experience with ovarian cancer, of my trip to the emergency department of the Queensway Carleton Hospital with pain associated with my gallbladder, and of the ultrasound ordered to look for that issue that instead discovered a tumour the size of a grapefruit. We agreed that, while no one wants to have an incidental finding—especially for something as serious as cancer—it's ultimately better to have the result than not to know about it.

It is fortuitous that I've had so many diagnostic imaging tests since my ovarian cancer—some associated with my perianal skin cancer, today's linked to my breast reconstruction, which itself stemmed from a bilateral mastectomy to avoid breast cancer. Having access to these imaging tests is a bonus. They provide reassurance, beyond my monthly CA125 tests, that my ovarian cancer has not returned.

Dalton had me in and out of the CT scan in about 10 minutes, which included explaining the procedure, answering my questions, inserting an IV cannula, running the first half of the test, then administering an iodine-based colourless liquid known as contrast before taking a few more images. He had forewarned me that the contrast would create a sensation of warming, which some describe as feeling like a hot flash, and that I would feel like I needed to pee. His description was accurate. The warming was welcome, as I often feel cold. But the feeling that I needed to urinate was eerie.

By 4:35 PM—before the time I was scheduled to begin the process—I was done. As this was the first time I had had this type of contrast, Dalton asked that I remain in the waiting area for about 10 minutes to make sure that I wouldn't have an allergic reaction. I didn't. Ten minutes later, he reappeared to remove the IV cannula, and I was on my way.

I don't know when my breast reconstruction surgery will occur, but I'm relieved to have completed all the steps needed for the operation to proceed.