Why is it that when you’re trying to do something quickly and efficiently you lose the ability to type? (What, that doesn’t happen to you? What are you, some kind of weirdo?)
I have white coat syndrome. In a bad way.
So it was with some trepidation that I walked into the local (it’s just down the street) hospital and looked for the radiology department. Of course, there are no signs that say where the radiology department actually is. Worse, the ‘information’ desk was empty except for a sign that said that there was no one there. Helpful, that.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
It was 7:30 at night so the place was much quieter than usual. ‘Empty’ hospitals are creepier than busy ones. But that wasn’t the worst part either.
I found the radiology department and the nice lady at the desk who wasn’t wearing a white coat asked me the same questions that the nice lady on the phone asked me two days ago. She gave me a form to fill out. The form had the same questions on it. I filled it out without whining or complaining, though. (Well, not very much.) I made my way to the waiting room where there wasn’t a copy of the October 2013 issue of Cosmo. The MRI tech (again, not wearing a white coat) came in and took my form, looked it over and then asked me the same questions again.
Yet again, that wasn’t the worst part.
She told me to undress, then ushered me into a cold room and told me to lie on the specially chilled table. That wasn’t the worst part. She clamped my head into a cage, strapped headphones to my head and asked which radio station I’d like to listen to. I told her. She went away and turned on a different one.
That wasn’t the worst part either.
After ten minutes of a giant magnet screaming in my ear (both of them, actually), she came back into the room, adjusted my ‘gown‘ (that wasn’t the worst part) and proceeded to empty a comic-opera syringe (“This won’t hurt a bit.” Laugh laugh, joke joke.) into my arm. I was tired and slightly nauseous from playing hockey and I really, really don’t like needles but that wasn’t the worst part.
After that it was back in the magnet (OF DOOM) for more thumping, screaming and vibrating. At about the halfway mark the wrong radio station actually played music that I liked. Unfortunately, the headphones were the lowest-fidelity ones on the face of the planet so it took almost twenty seconds to tell what the music was.
And that was the worst part.