Carcass Quality Assessment

A few weeks ago, I was scheduled to have a CT scan. Never having done this before, I was nervous.  In an effort to reassure me, my daughter Mary sent this photo of a sheep undergoing a "carcass quality assessment."  After seeing how gently (foam padding), yet how firmly the sheep was strapped in, I wasn't sure whether to be comforted or frightened. 


At the radiology clinic, the technician typed my first name into the computer.  Then, she asked me to spell my last name, which has only four letters. When I did, she said, "Oh! I thought it was a much longer name."  I replied, "Actually, my last name is Schnitzennburgher."  (It's not, and I don't even know any Schnitzennburghers.)  That's when I realized just how nervous I really was.  


The morning of my appointment, I gulped down two pints of Contrast solution, which tasted like a milky Orange Julius drink from the mall.  Although I'd been told that the solution "isn't designed to clean you out," I'm sorry to report that that was the immediate effect.  My neighbor Joann volunteered to drive me to the clinic in her car, and I worried that we wouldn't arrive with the car's upholstery and our friendship unsullied.


When we got to the clinic (without incident), they hooked me up to an IV, through which even more Contrast solution was administered. They said the CT machine would "talk" to me and I should follow its instructions carefully.  I waited for the straps and green foam restraints, but they apparently trusted me not to jump up and run off to hide in the barn.


The CT machine had a pleasant, female voice which told me when to "Take a deep breath and hold it," and when to "Resume breathing normally," as I was trundled in and out of the giant horseshoe-shaped scanner and the quality of my carcass was assessed. 


Luckily, I was able to resist the urge to bleat, "Baa Ram Ewe!"*




*See the movie, Babe, for elucidation.