The envelope of appointment cards held nothing that sounded catastrophic. There were cards labeled "blood tests" and "chest X-ray" as usual, and one card that read "cat scan," I stared at the last card with latent skepticism. The name itself held no malice; with luck, the test would prove to be painless as well. The cat scan, I later discovered, was another means of taking an X-ray, and with this knowledge, felt sure that I would live to tell about it. As it was my final test, however, I could not help but wonder if it was worse than the rest; I had noticed from previous experience that the more detestable prodding, poking and outright sampling of one's body was reserved for last, which was appropriate, perhaps, since a main event was always the biggest fight. I sat in my dressing room, musing over the test's infinite possibilities until I was retrieved by one of the generically-attired clinicians and led through radiation wonderland to a room housing a huge device. A circular opening in the machine appeared to devour the examination table on which I was instructed to lay. This was, indeed, something new. Once inside the room, the door closed and the technicians scattered. I watched from my spot on the rigid table as some people milled about the machine and others remained attentive from behind what resembled a sportscaster's window. One young woman began to prepare my arm for an injection, so I smiled and seized the opportunity to talk. I always felt sorry for the staff at clinics; daily they received undeserved abuse from bitter or frightened patients, as well as a significant amount of mute apathy. I wanted to disprove the possible thought that all patients had the personality of cold oatmeal. . .and I wanted to know just what the test would entail. "Does that hurt?" I motioned my eyes at the machine's jowl, which stood agape slightly above my body. The woman shook her head and told me to remain very still as the final adjustments were made. "Is this all there is to it?" I asked, referring this time to the injection. "Sometimes a patient has to have two types of injections, but you probably won't..." she said. Her pleasant tone eased my mind and instilled trust, much like a friend would have done. Suddenly everyone disappeared to the observation window and the lights dimmed. A series of instructions were broadcast from the window and then the machine came to life, clicking off pictures of my insides as I held my breath for dictated intervals. When the lights flashed on, the woman came to my side again. She told me it would take a few minutes to know whether or not my X-rays were satisfactory, so we ventured into a trivial conversation until the results were determined. Activity resumed shortly, signaling that a verdict was at hand, so the nurse departed, only to return with an apologetic look on her face and equipment for an IV in her hand.