Biopsies Suck (and Other Obvious Observations)

I had the dreaded biopsy today. It wasn’t pleasant, but neither was it a heinous, terrible affair. It isn’t something I would do for fun, but I’ve experienced worse. They checked me in (after I roamed around the hospital for some time looking for the radiology place). I was the youngest person in the waiting room and got a look of sympathy from the nice old woman in a wheelchair. I returned it.

They made me strip, put me into bed, took my vitals, and mentioned that my heart rate was high. The wonderful nurses attending to me figured it out in about a second. “You’re probably nervous, huh?” Thank you. The nurses at my doctor’s office can’t seem to figure that out. “Why is your heart rate so high? Why is your blood pressure up?” Because I’m nervous and in pain, bitches! Happily, my doctor knows what’s up, and that’s what’s important.

I laid there reading for about an hour until the doctor came in to see me. In that time, as is the way of my life, something made me glad to be who I am and where I was and dealing with what I am rather than something else. A man was wheeled into the bed next to me, and we were separated by a curtain. He couldn’t speak. His voice was a raspy whisper which sounded as though it cost him effort and pain. The doctor came to see him and was talking about stomach and esophageal linings and scar tissue and mild sedation because of his vital signs and how organs are cleaving to each other…and I silently wished him well and tuned out.

Some volunteer (whose supremely sexy voice unfortunately did not match his face) asked if he could watch my procedure. He could have been maintenance. All he was doing was bringing people blankets. I didn’t know, but I said sure because I have no shame and I didn’t care. His gratitude was a little off-putting, like, “Nobody ever says yes! I’m just a receptionist! Woo hoo!”

He wheeled me to the room where they used a CT scan to find where they were supposed to mangle me. My heart rate started going up and up and up. I remembered that place, you see.

Several years ago I almost died. You know what killed Heather O’Rourke, the little girl from Poltergeist? Yeah, I pretty much had that. My intestines were inexplicably narrowed in one spot (they think I was born that way), things were backed up, and I was near death. I went to the ER of that same hospital and after hours of being in there (because the goddamned triage nurses thought I had a stomach flu), they took me, still in the worst agony I have ever, ever been in…to that very CT scan room. Now, there’s a chance that they are all decorated the same way, but the ceiling and the glass panels were painted with these lovely blue and green swirls. It was a detail I hadn’t remembered until I saw it again.

The nurses and the doctors sedated me like they were supposed to, and I found myself grateful. I wasn’t in the same pain or the dire straits that I had been in the last time I was in one of those rooms. I was glad.

They told me to flip over on the bed like they would a much, much older person, and my nurse laughed at them. “He’s young and mobile. He’s fine. Get over there.” Laughing, I flipped over. The CT scan nurse exposed my ass (I wonder if the volunteer with the sexy voice expected THAT glimpse of perky, glaringly white buttocks), stuck stickers all over me, and covered me up a bit.

I wasn’t feeling any different, so they gave me more medication. Woooo! They stuck me and it was just like getting a shot. Then they took out the drill. I shit you not. The doctor said, “Now you’ll hear a drill…” Why are you putting a goddamned drill in my ass?! Mutha needed to take me out on a date before that shit. Fine, it wasn’t my ass, it was my hip, but the principal remains.

I got the drill twice (not as sexy as it sounds), they patched me up, and I was on my way. I was a babbling, drugged up mess. The nurse called my friend/roommate/ride and told me that if I was driving and got pulled over on that medication, it was an automatic DUI.

I ate Jack in the Box, took two naps, and now my hip feels like someone kicked me in it. It’s a deep pain, like someone punched my bones and then put my flesh back on it. It’s very unpleasant, but nothing terrible. That part is over. Now I get to wait two weeks for the results. *sigh*

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~ by Darren Endymion on June 4, 2015.

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