Xrays done and done.
Jul. 7th, 2004 12:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenSo I'm back from getting my xrays done.
Fortunately for me I live close to a medical center (I should say fortunately I live close to a *nice* medical center, as it's also attractive to look at) so getting there was simply a matter of walking down the block.
Once there I was greeted by a nice receptionist who took my information and asked me how I was ("Confused and bewildered, but thanks.") I then went through all the paperwork needed to get signed up, which included, amongst other things, providing my car insurance information for the claim. Granted that this is understandable due to it being a car accident, but claiming medical via Geico did leave me wondering if I'd be getting a lube and a tune-up before the morning was done.
(Insert your own lube joke right about... *here*.)
Then it was upstairs to the Diagnostic Imaging department. I immediately suspected the medical center of trying to drum up business when I was told by the woman downstairs that once I was out of the elevator I should take a right. Sounds good in theory. In reality taking a right would have plunged me over the attractive wrought iron railing that separated me from a very rapid return to the floor below. I can only assume that people who have some sort of disorder that makes them take things very literally don't get told that set of instructions. I also think that anybody who was there at oh my god in the morning, as I was, should have been included in that category of people.
Near-death averted, I successfully arrived at the DID and began the valuable medical procedure of reading the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly (Out: Vintage cufflinks. Five minutes ago: the location of my ability to care)
After not too long a while I was led back into the DID by a woman who could have successfully landed a role of "Cliche Hollywood Villain with Indeterminate Eastern European Accent" in a movie, though I hasten to add only because of the accent, and not because she was in any way unpleasant or unhelpful.
She took me into a changing room and gave me the necessary robes of dubious dignity, while leaving me with parting words of wisdom ("Vun for frunt, vun for beck. I go und come beck for yoo, ja?")
I then changed and waited for her to come beck for me, ja. While doing so, I observed the following important things in this order:
1) there was no place to put my clothes
2) the plastic bin of fresh robes had wheels, and was eager to tell the world about this fact via an overly perky sticker
3) The rope to pull in case you needed help was tied in something not unlike a hangman's noose, though it could have only been used by suicidal gerbils
4) Provided the gerbils had stepstools
5) The frame of the mirror on the wall was amazingly dusty
6) My eyes were bloodshot enough that it wouldn't have been unreasonable for people to assume that I was a drug addict
7) On the other hand, I was having a damn good hair day
8) Somewhere nearby was something that caused the sound of constantly trickling water
9) I was very happy to have already gone to the bathroom
At about then I was called by a voice outside. I popped my head out the door and found a woman who was searching the waiting room for me. I gotta say, if I had a nickel for every time somebody in the medical profession looked in the waiting room while I was actually in the room I was supposed to be, I'd have exactly ten cents because let's face it I've only been to medical establishments twice this week so it's not like there's been a lot of chances for this to occur. On the other time it's happened 100% of the times that it was possible for it to happen, so it makes me wonder if I've developed the ability to turn invisible. Which would also explain how I got into the world's most avoidable accident, so I don't rule this out as a possibility.
I then identified myself to the woman who gave me a slightly befuddled look and said "You can come out, you know." to which I wanted to protest that the other woman had not yet come beck for me, ja, but on the other hand this woman was ready to take my xrays so I figured just go with the flow.
The xray room itself was big and modern and dimly lit enough that I really would have been fine to curl up on the table and go right back to sleep. Sadly that was not to be my fate as I was apparently expected to do stuff.
So up on the table I went, where I was confronted with an xray machine that successfully answered the question "Can we attach something to the ceiling that is both large in its own right and yet held in place by railings so tiny that the only conclusion anyone can make the moment they see it is that any second now the entire thing is going to fall down and crush their lower spine in an ironic accident that it will take their entire lives to recover from, if ever?" (and the answer to this question turns out to be: "Yes. Yes, we can.")
The Xray tech then left me alone while she went to get the films. The room continued to be dark, but now it was quiet save for a very faint hum, and the urge to intone "I'm sorry, Dave, I can't do that." was strong but I managed to handle it.
Next came the actual xrays. Having xrays done of your spine involves trying not to breathe on cue and ideally not being pregnant (Her: "Are you sure?" Me: "Not without a miracle." Her: "Really?" Me: "If I am I can promise you the kid's the Second Coming, which might possibly be a bigger issue for me to deal with than this random back pain." Her: "Huh?" Me: "Nevermind.").
At that point you're then put into various positions which range from the obvious ("Lie on your back and hold still.") to the pornographic ("Put one hand on your chest and your other between your legs as you hold this lead shield in place.") to the now-you're-just-screwing-with-me ("Lie on your side, knees bent, arms over your head but not *totally* over your head, one shoulder over the table, the other back at least four inches, then recite the latest report from the House Ways and Means Committee while doing tiny circle kicks of no more than three and a half inches in diameter.") Then the machine makes beeps and flashes and quietly threatens to drop right down on you just to see the look on your face, and then it's done and you can put your clothes on and you don't even get a little money left on the nightstand for your troubles.
But it's over and done with, so at least there's that.
Now if only I could take a nap while I'm at the office.
ETA: Forgot to mention that I was greatly tempted to go to this appointment while wearing the scrubs that I normally wear for working in the dentist's office, just so that on the odd chance somebody would come up to me and ask me a question, because that way I could give them a look and go "What? Do I look like I work here?" but I refrained. Mostly because it was hot outside. But the urge was strong. Because I'm 3. 8)
Fortunately for me I live close to a medical center (I should say fortunately I live close to a *nice* medical center, as it's also attractive to look at) so getting there was simply a matter of walking down the block.
Once there I was greeted by a nice receptionist who took my information and asked me how I was ("Confused and bewildered, but thanks.") I then went through all the paperwork needed to get signed up, which included, amongst other things, providing my car insurance information for the claim. Granted that this is understandable due to it being a car accident, but claiming medical via Geico did leave me wondering if I'd be getting a lube and a tune-up before the morning was done.
(Insert your own lube joke right about... *here*.)
Then it was upstairs to the Diagnostic Imaging department. I immediately suspected the medical center of trying to drum up business when I was told by the woman downstairs that once I was out of the elevator I should take a right. Sounds good in theory. In reality taking a right would have plunged me over the attractive wrought iron railing that separated me from a very rapid return to the floor below. I can only assume that people who have some sort of disorder that makes them take things very literally don't get told that set of instructions. I also think that anybody who was there at oh my god in the morning, as I was, should have been included in that category of people.
Near-death averted, I successfully arrived at the DID and began the valuable medical procedure of reading the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly (Out: Vintage cufflinks. Five minutes ago: the location of my ability to care)
After not too long a while I was led back into the DID by a woman who could have successfully landed a role of "Cliche Hollywood Villain with Indeterminate Eastern European Accent" in a movie, though I hasten to add only because of the accent, and not because she was in any way unpleasant or unhelpful.
She took me into a changing room and gave me the necessary robes of dubious dignity, while leaving me with parting words of wisdom ("Vun for frunt, vun for beck. I go und come beck for yoo, ja?")
I then changed and waited for her to come beck for me, ja. While doing so, I observed the following important things in this order:
1) there was no place to put my clothes
2) the plastic bin of fresh robes had wheels, and was eager to tell the world about this fact via an overly perky sticker
3) The rope to pull in case you needed help was tied in something not unlike a hangman's noose, though it could have only been used by suicidal gerbils
4) Provided the gerbils had stepstools
5) The frame of the mirror on the wall was amazingly dusty
6) My eyes were bloodshot enough that it wouldn't have been unreasonable for people to assume that I was a drug addict
7) On the other hand, I was having a damn good hair day
8) Somewhere nearby was something that caused the sound of constantly trickling water
9) I was very happy to have already gone to the bathroom
At about then I was called by a voice outside. I popped my head out the door and found a woman who was searching the waiting room for me. I gotta say, if I had a nickel for every time somebody in the medical profession looked in the waiting room while I was actually in the room I was supposed to be, I'd have exactly ten cents because let's face it I've only been to medical establishments twice this week so it's not like there's been a lot of chances for this to occur. On the other time it's happened 100% of the times that it was possible for it to happen, so it makes me wonder if I've developed the ability to turn invisible. Which would also explain how I got into the world's most avoidable accident, so I don't rule this out as a possibility.
I then identified myself to the woman who gave me a slightly befuddled look and said "You can come out, you know." to which I wanted to protest that the other woman had not yet come beck for me, ja, but on the other hand this woman was ready to take my xrays so I figured just go with the flow.
The xray room itself was big and modern and dimly lit enough that I really would have been fine to curl up on the table and go right back to sleep. Sadly that was not to be my fate as I was apparently expected to do stuff.
So up on the table I went, where I was confronted with an xray machine that successfully answered the question "Can we attach something to the ceiling that is both large in its own right and yet held in place by railings so tiny that the only conclusion anyone can make the moment they see it is that any second now the entire thing is going to fall down and crush their lower spine in an ironic accident that it will take their entire lives to recover from, if ever?" (and the answer to this question turns out to be: "Yes. Yes, we can.")
The Xray tech then left me alone while she went to get the films. The room continued to be dark, but now it was quiet save for a very faint hum, and the urge to intone "I'm sorry, Dave, I can't do that." was strong but I managed to handle it.
Next came the actual xrays. Having xrays done of your spine involves trying not to breathe on cue and ideally not being pregnant (Her: "Are you sure?" Me: "Not without a miracle." Her: "Really?" Me: "If I am I can promise you the kid's the Second Coming, which might possibly be a bigger issue for me to deal with than this random back pain." Her: "Huh?" Me: "Nevermind.").
At that point you're then put into various positions which range from the obvious ("Lie on your back and hold still.") to the pornographic ("Put one hand on your chest and your other between your legs as you hold this lead shield in place.") to the now-you're-just-screwing-with-me ("Lie on your side, knees bent, arms over your head but not *totally* over your head, one shoulder over the table, the other back at least four inches, then recite the latest report from the House Ways and Means Committee while doing tiny circle kicks of no more than three and a half inches in diameter.") Then the machine makes beeps and flashes and quietly threatens to drop right down on you just to see the look on your face, and then it's done and you can put your clothes on and you don't even get a little money left on the nightstand for your troubles.
But it's over and done with, so at least there's that.
Now if only I could take a nap while I'm at the office.
ETA: Forgot to mention that I was greatly tempted to go to this appointment while wearing the scrubs that I normally wear for working in the dentist's office, just so that on the odd chance somebody would come up to me and ask me a question, because that way I could give them a look and go "What? Do I look like I work here?" but I refrained. Mostly because it was hot outside. But the urge was strong. Because I'm 3. 8)
