Leave your scans to the experts: An idiot’s guide to doing the stupid thing

This is the story of a number, the angst it caused and the idiot who didn’t know what it meant.

And it starts with a trip to the GP.

While the rubber gloves and coughing are (thankfully) not yet part of my medical routine, when you get to a certain age, trips to the doctor tend to open up a whole new world of possibility.

Feet-first through the doughnut.Credit: Nic Walker

Possibilities such as dropping dead.

As a not-entirely-fit man in his mid-to-late 40s, that’s a possibility that tends to linger in the mind. Like many, Shane Warne’s untimely death – at an age not that much more advanced than mine – hit me for six, if you’ll excuse the obvious cricket pun.

With that in mind, when a precautionary test was offered – one that, almost scandalously, is not covered by Medicare – I jumped at the chance for a coronary artery calcium score test, conducted via CT scan, which would assess my risk of a future heart attack or stroke.

The kind of thing one would want to know, really.

So off I went before work on a Thursday morning last month, and went foot-first through the CT doughnut.

About 2pm the following day, I got a text message from the imaging centre. My scans were ready for viewing.

Somehow, I missed the link to the report and instead poured over the assorted images, data and gobbledegook.

And then, there it was staring me in the face. A three-digit number I thought would change my life.

“Calcium Scoring 209.”

The number that caused so much angst, because Cameron Atfield is so very much not a doctor.Credit: Screenshot

Well, that doesn’t sound too good, does it?

Of course, like any trained medical professional, my first consultation was with Dr Google, who helpfully informed me the score meant I had a “moderate to high risk” of heart disease, with a higher chance of a heart attack.

Goodo.

With my follow-up GP’s appointment two weeks away, I spent the fortnight with increasing anxiety as Dr Google told me more and more about my situation. No, this calcium score could not be reversed without surgery. Yes, it does put me at “relatively high risk” of a heart attack within the next three-to-five years.

For two weeks, I fretted about what life had in store for me. A lifestyle change was a certainty – but to what extent?

Finally, D-day arrived and I steeled myself in the waiting room for what was about to come.

Steeling myself to hear that number leave my GP’s lips. Steeling myself for that serious chat about the lifestyle changes that awaited.

Steeling myself for ...

“Zero,” the doctor said.

What?

“Zero.”

My calcium score was zero, which was the very best number (or lack thereof) one could hope for.

That’s when I swore to my doctor that I had seen a calcium score of 209 on my scans. I was certain of it.

“If it was 209, we’d be having a very different conversation right now,” he reassured me.

Eventually, after searching through all the scans to find the offending line, my complete and utter inability to make sense of medical scans became clear.

The 209 referred to the milliampere-seconds, whatever the hell they are, that the big doughnut machine used to study my innards. Or something like that – don’t ask me, I’m not a doctor.

And that’s the point, really.

My relief was as palpable as the realisation that I really was quite an idiot.

More and more of us are turning to Dr Google to get to the bottom of whatever ails us. But while taking an interest in one’s health can only be a positive thing, self-diagnosis is a mug’s game.

Despite this clear evidence to the contrary, I’m pretty loath to share my medical business with the world. But this experience has given me a rare piece of wisdom to impart upon others.

When it comes to all this medical sciencey stuff, it really is best left to the experts.

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