I needed a new doctor. For those of you following, I’m sure you realize all the medical complications this year (and then some) has brought me. I received a few recommendations and picked one.
The whole three day ordeal of my first consultation began when I spent several hours conversing back and forth between the insurance company and the doctor’s office in the attempt to procure a covered appointment. All worked out, and I had an appointment for the next afternoon.
That morning I started having panic attacks, because that’s what I do. These were graciously interrupted by a hilarious episode of George attacking the old medicine cabinet on the back porch. Unfortunately, he heard me go get the camera, so he quit before I could embarrass him.
By that afternoon, I was a nervous wreck. But I made it to the office, through the paper work, the waiting, and the telling of my life story to the pre-doctor nurse. I haven’t understood those nurses for several years because all the doctors seem to ask you all the same questions again, so what’s the point? But I digress. The doctor finally arrived, almost an hour later. He seemed real attentive and as though he were putting forth his best effort, so I most certainly didn’t mind the wait. He listened well, taking in details, asking questions, and having answers for me. So far, so good. I was sent for lab work and to make another appointment first thing the next morning for an echocardiogram.
Thankfully, by the time I went for lab work, I was all kicks and giggles. I warned the female nurse that my veins didn’t like to be poked. While she was torturing me, I told her to be thankful she didn’t have to do me like I had to do the cows when I pregnancy check them. (We have to lift their tail and insert a needle between the vertebrate catching a vein that runs down the tail. It’s a joyous process for all involved.) Here is a video for the truly curious. Otherwise, please skip ahead.
Back to me with the nurses. I warned her, and I knew what to expect, but it still frustrated her. She tried both arms. She failed both times. I offered to bend over and lift my tail in the air for her. She declined.
She called the male nurse to come help. I didn’t think it appropriate to offer to bend over for him, so I told him about George and the mirror from that morning. Shortly thereafter, the female nurse asked him if I told him about the cows. So I explained to him the procedure. I also told him that I offered to lift my tail up for her, at which point he got the giggles and asked her why she didn’t do it. She said, “There are limits to this job.” But neither one could stop laughing. He finally succeeded, ending the torture, and I was on my way.
This morning I concluded this escapade with my first ever echocardiogram. I had to lay on my side on a bed with a trap door with my arm over my head and goo all over my chest. They made me do weird things I don’t want to talk about. Ever. Then I rolled onto my back and sniffed through my nose twice, took deep breaths and held them, leaned my head back, and took shallow breaths. I was not allowed to talk during the whole procedure. It was unequivocally weird.
I’m home now, obviously, writing about my day. Why? Well, if for no other reason, to give you a chuckle. But also because now you can take this story and tell it to your nurse friends or offer to bend over and lift your tail when they take your blood.
Have a good New Year! I hope it’s better than the last one!!!
theburrowfarm 