They escorted me into the medical imaging waiting room. I let my mom read my next book while I fidgeted. (These tests make me tired and sick and I had mom drive me). The book was passing the test as I could not get her attention. She had become emerged in the characters that I had created.
A slender man in his mid forties, white coat and a radioactive badge on his shoulder came through the door. “Terri?” He says. I let mom watch my purse and he escorts me to the nuclear section of the hospital. He jokes to keep me occupied and tries to make me comfortable. I on the other hand, just want to run! He explains that very little radiation is in the saline he will inject me with and wraps his giant blue rubber band around my left arm. His attempts to find a good vein are failing. I had not had enough water. So, we decide on the large vein on my hand. It seemed to be the best. I looked away and he gave that little speech, “You will feel a tiny little bit of pressure and a poke.” And I think to myself, I wonder when the last time someone hit him in the crotch?
He says to return at 1:45 and we will begin the fun part of the test.
Mom is waiting and we leave to eat something. I rub my temple. The dye has entered my head and I have a headache. I am one in a million to get one of those. I was hoping that it would stay small. And we return to mom’s pickup, to find a delivery van parked directly behind it. We both stop dead in our tracks and look at one another. We both knew the steps. She drove and I stood in sight of her mirror and we did a four-part turn to “Squeeze” our way out of the handicap spot. Very rude delivery man!
We ate, we did the “tour de Costco” and returned to my task at hand. My physical therapist recommended I walk to irritate the areas we were trying to locate, so the dye would settle in the “hot” spots and help to diagnose what has transpired in my back.
Again, my white coated nuclear man appeared and walked me to my chamber of horror. It was a giant machine that hummed and did giant circles around my body. I got to stare at the fluorescent lights for 40 minutes and I even managed a small nap somewhere in there. He positioned the monitor so I could see the white dots arrive on the screen. And I had to try and not laugh. I kept expecting my skeleton to start dancing. (Again, that was in my head!) My arms fell asleep and my left knee and back ached so bad, I knew tears were not far away. On a scale of ten, it was a twenty.
He let me put my jewelry and shoes back on(which was difficult at this time), and showed me the way to the waiting room. This time mom had stayed with the pickup….no where near that delivery van. I hobbled out of the building and tried to call her. My phone would not work. It said it was on Airplane mode and would not call. What the heck is airplane mode? And what is it doing on my phone? I swore to myself, embarrassed the man at the wheel chair check out and stumbled out the automatic doors. I made it to the parking lot, but, I was so sore by then, that all I could do was whistle. I don’t whistle Dixie, I don’t whistle song birds. When I whistle, boats stop! Traffic looks for sirens and babies cry. Mom knew it was me immediately, and I motioned for help. I could barely stand, and I was crying. I hurt so bad my ancestors felt it. But I would not ask THAT hospital for help. THEY were the one’s that kicked me out of their emergency room. (Explanation from “Legs, Trains, and is this REALLY a Hospital?”) I only went there because of my surgeon and they were the only one’s with that imaging machine. But ONLY because of that.
Four Aleve, a bunch of water, and a seat laying back, I got my pain reduced and I adjusted my attitude and we came home.
I still don’t know what AIRPLANE mode is.
http://www.amazon.com/Trains-Hospital-Diaries-Damaged-ebook/dp/B007HU6Z8M/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_2 For more details on hospital mistakes and insurance bloopers.