Cleolinda Jones (cleolinda) wrote,
Cleolinda Jones

Flash back to election day: "Just have everything done together," said the woman at the test scheduling desk. This was after she made us wait five or six minutes, no kidding, while she talked to some coworker about some other girl and Mom and I just stood there and watched. Finally, when she got good and ready, she started telling me that I should just go have the bloodwork done immediately. However, the bloodwork was a fasting test that Dr. B had just ordered, so it's not like I'd come prepared. We had to explain this five times before she got this through her head. Finally, she arrived at the "Just have everything done together" idea. It seemed good at the time.

Part of the problem was that I totally forgot about the fasting part and had a really, really late lunch yesterday and then when it came time for dinner, I realized I didn't want it. So by the time I got to the lab this morning, I hadn't eaten in 17 hours. On top of that, I presented the scrip from the other Dr. B, who had wanted me to go to Dr. B2 and have her check out girly things and actually order the lab work, and it turns out that the two Bs had asked for totally different tests. The only one in common was a thyroid test. Now, at one point a (very sullen) nurse told me there was "no charge for labwork," and since my mother is a company benefits director, I have, like, the most kickass insurance ever anyway, so I was like, "Do 'em all. Test away. Test for mono while you're at it. Hell, can you test me for lupus or Lyme disease or ebola or something? I mean, while we're at it." But don't worry--the gods of health care punished me for my flippancy, because the older nurse ended up taking four vials of blood. And I hate needles, y'all.

Something else you should know: I have no veins. (I know!) I've been repeatedly told by various doctors who have tried to take my blood (NO DON'T TAKE MY BLOOD GIVE IT BACK AHHHHH!) that they can't find a vein to poke anyway. Dr. A, my general practictioner (I swear to God, I'm not usually crawling with doctors like this. I see these people once every three years if they're lucky) once took my blood when I had a bad case of the flu, and it bruised up so bad that he said, "Don't you dare tell anyone that I did this. This is all your fault. You have no veins, you know." (Heh. He's cantankerous, Dr. A.) And then I passed out on his table. (Apparently my next book will be called Doctors I Have Known and Loved {But Not Much}.) When I had my wisdom teeth out they gave me anesthesia, like, the real stuff, and my arm came out there looking like it'd seen action in Vietnam. So I wasn't really looking forward to this anyway. But this woman? Most beautiful blood theft I've ever seen. Four vials, and you can't even tell she poked me. Gorgeous.

So then I wobble over to the food court, because I have more than an hour until the ultrasound. Well, actually, first I wobble over to admitting or whatever, and they give me, like, an Outback coaster-pager and I wobble back upstairs to the food court, where I get a hash brown and three slices of "French" "toast." It was more like yellow insulation with maple syrup on it, but okay. Halfway into the first "slice" the pager goes off and I am summoned to... fill out paperwork. So I'm taken back to a series of cubicles where a nice woman xeroxes my insurance card and asks me a bunch of very basic questions that I'm too blinkered to answer ("Address?" "Forty... four... fourteen... it's something with a four, I know it"). And then I have to check in at radiology and get a new coaster. Fortunately, the radiology desk is literally five feet away. So then, rather than go back to the food court where I can actually eat my Frenchsulation "toast", Mom and I go sit in the little waiting area a few feet away and dish about Lost while I chug my giant bottle of Mountain Dew, because I have to have a full bladder for the procedure. The weird part is that, about twenty minutes into this conversation, some very grim-looking woman comes and sits down next to Mom, despite the multiplicity of available seats. She keeps staring over Mom's shoulder at me. It was really weird. I think we had her at "peanut butter" and she just couldn't turn away at that point.

Outback coaster alert! A nice young nurse takes me back into this maze of rooms and she's all like, "Is that your mom there with you? She can come and sit in here if you want." Now, fortunately, I was already in the ultrasound room alone with the nurse at this point, because I was totally like, "No. No, I'm good. Totally good. She can stay out there. No. In conclusion: No." I love my mom, and as you can tell, we do a lot of things together and like a lot of the same things. Which is exactly why I want her out of my personal Kool-Aid every now and then. And for some reason I was very proud of asserting myself, even though the nurse was like, "Really? Oh, okay. Cool."

Meanwhile, Mom had mentioned possibly hunting down George's favorite uncle's--okay, this is a little complex. I'm going to rewind. Earlier this week, George's favorite uncle died. He's still pretty upset about it. The uncle, however, had Alzheimer's and was living in a nursing home and it was one of those "I mourn the person who is gone but that person was pretty much gone anyway, and I'm glad he's not suffering anymore." The worst part was that the uncle's longtime partner Frank was already in the hospital--this hospital--with liver trouble, so he wasn't even with the uncle when he passed. So it's a very sad situation all around. I mention this partly because, like rockgeisha herself mentioned earlier, this whole "" thing pisses me off, too. You know what? We're not all like that, so don't write all of us off, and don't act like we're the only red-state region in the country (coughmidwestcough), either. My family voted Kerry and I was at a hospital taking tests to make sure I could take the pill without complications, assuming nobody tries to take it away from me in the next four years, and my stepfather's favorite gay uncle just passed away. Fuck you, You're not helping.

Anyway. Mom was talking about going to visit Frank, but the nurse told her she wouldn't really have time, if she wanted to wait for me--I'd be done that fast. Of course, we then had to wait fifteen minutes while I chugged paper cups of water, because apparently, despite doing the Dew in record time, my bladder was not full enough. Apparently you can see other things better when it's full, is the deal--the procedure, in case you're getting squicky, is totally non-invasive; it basically involved throwing hot goo on my stomach and moving a telephone receiver around on it. Only problem is, the nurse was moving it really hard. Like, the bladder, she is full! hard. Like, Cap'n, she cannae take the pressure! hard. Ow. And then we were done. Apparently someone will interpret the arcane markings on my ultrasound and get back to us on Monday, and it'll take about a week to get the results of the bloodwork in.

And then I crawled back into bed.
Tags: family, health, lost, my mother, politics, tv, wisdom teeth

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