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mrissaI was so very, very wrong.
Specifically, when I said, "Any medical appointment where they don't put anything metal inside your body is a good medical appointment"? Oh, was I wrong.
They put things in my ears.
Maybe I should have made this a voice post, because I'm not sure you can properly hear the creeping disgust here: things. In my ears. At one point the audiologist-or-other-professional said, "We're going to put a wick in your ear. Let me know when it hits your eardrum." And I? Being a mature and reasonable person? Did not call her any nasty names, did not attempt to knock her down and flee down the hallway, did not fling myself on the floor and howl. I didn't even squirm. I sat and let her put the thing on my eardrum and the other thing over it and then make it sound like a woodpecker had moved into my eardrum. And then she came in to take it out and said, "How are we doing?" I did not say, "You're doing fine; no one has put anything on your eardrum." I did not say, "Bloody awful, thanks for asking." I did not say, "We're just barely halfway done with this one test and God knows what you will think to do after the left side is done and I was trying to distract myself with that one Diane Ackerman poem from Planets, but the woodpecker tapping was too fast for anything but Edna St. Vincent Millay or maybemaybe e. e. cummings, and I ran out of clean e. e. cummings, and I don't even like the dirty e. e. cummings, and we're only halfway done with this one test so how do you think I'm doing?" I said, "Fine."
Mature and reasonable is so overrated.
(Happily, the medical personnel in question were from here, so they could hear the difference between "fine" and "fine." (And Zathros.) Also the way I was clutching the arm of the chair and clenching my jaw may have tipped them off.)
And they flung my head and upper body about and made me watch funny lights and blew air in my ears -- cold in the right, then cold in the left, then warm in the right, then warm in the left -- and asked me to name presidents and cars and flowers. And I did not say, "Lady, I do not know you nearly well enough to let you do that, even with mechanical assistance." No. Because I am a mature and reasonable person, even when they tangle my hair in electrodes, even when they leave goop on my face without wiping it off, even when they touch the hair that grows right above my ears that is the part of my body most likely to make me irrationally violent when touched by any but a handful of people in any but an extremely small handful of circumstances.
And the worst part of being a mature and reasonable person is that you know you don't get to take a break from it and be a bratty beast for awhile, and you know you have to go back again tomorrow, and you know they may say, "Sorry, we see nothing; too bad for you."
I get ice cream, is what I have to say about all that.
Specifically, when I said, "Any medical appointment where they don't put anything metal inside your body is a good medical appointment"? Oh, was I wrong.
They put things in my ears.
Maybe I should have made this a voice post, because I'm not sure you can properly hear the creeping disgust here: things. In my ears. At one point the audiologist-or-other-professional said, "We're going to put a wick in your ear. Let me know when it hits your eardrum." And I? Being a mature and reasonable person? Did not call her any nasty names, did not attempt to knock her down and flee down the hallway, did not fling myself on the floor and howl. I didn't even squirm. I sat and let her put the thing on my eardrum and the other thing over it and then make it sound like a woodpecker had moved into my eardrum. And then she came in to take it out and said, "How are we doing?" I did not say, "You're doing fine; no one has put anything on your eardrum." I did not say, "Bloody awful, thanks for asking." I did not say, "We're just barely halfway done with this one test and God knows what you will think to do after the left side is done and I was trying to distract myself with that one Diane Ackerman poem from Planets, but the woodpecker tapping was too fast for anything but Edna St. Vincent Millay or maybemaybe e. e. cummings, and I ran out of clean e. e. cummings, and I don't even like the dirty e. e. cummings, and we're only halfway done with this one test so how do you think I'm doing?" I said, "Fine."
Mature and reasonable is so overrated.
(Happily, the medical personnel in question were from here, so they could hear the difference between "fine" and "fine." (And Zathros.) Also the way I was clutching the arm of the chair and clenching my jaw may have tipped them off.)
And they flung my head and upper body about and made me watch funny lights and blew air in my ears -- cold in the right, then cold in the left, then warm in the right, then warm in the left -- and asked me to name presidents and cars and flowers. And I did not say, "Lady, I do not know you nearly well enough to let you do that, even with mechanical assistance." No. Because I am a mature and reasonable person, even when they tangle my hair in electrodes, even when they leave goop on my face without wiping it off, even when they touch the hair that grows right above my ears that is the part of my body most likely to make me irrationally violent when touched by any but a handful of people in any but an extremely small handful of circumstances.
And the worst part of being a mature and reasonable person is that you know you don't get to take a break from it and be a bratty beast for awhile, and you know you have to go back again tomorrow, and you know they may say, "Sorry, we see nothing; too bad for you."
I get ice cream, is what I have to say about all that.
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no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 10:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 10:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 10:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 11:00 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 11:05 pm (UTC)we had different procedures then...mine included water in the ear...*shudder*. But our reactions are about the same!
*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 11:07 pm (UTC)But yes. Ice cream on demand is one of the perks of being a grownup person.
And hope that if they find something that it is a simple fix (that doesn't involve eating no more ice cream!)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 12:22 am (UTC)Can I hit them? Please?
Date: 2006-07-10 11:23 pm (UTC)Yes. Lots of ice cream. And anything else you can think of that's feasible and desirable.
I would, um, not tolerate that well, myself. I think I'd be terribly mild and polite about it all right up until the moment I burst into tears, and I /hate/ bursting into tears at people who don't care about me.
What nasty people. And I don't CARE if they were actually very considerate and told you about everything they were doing and checked in with you and were sane and reassuring at you (though if they weren't, then I want to hit them even more) I still say, firmly, with no maturity or adultness anywhere in sight, that theyput things in your ear and blew at you and touched your hair and therefore are NASTY PEOPLE.
Hmph.
Well, I'm glad it's over for today, I hope the next time you have to see them is better, and I hope it turns out to have been useful. I'd comment that your household has had far too many life-upsetting mysterious medical conditions in the last year, but I don't make blindingly obvious statements on Mondays between 7 and 9.
Re: Can I hit them? Please?
Date: 2006-07-11 02:10 am (UTC)This is where deeply ingrained Minnesotaness comes in handy: my default strong emotional reaction is to go totally blank-faced and stoic. The more upset, the more blank -- as long as I'm around strangers. Of course, the worse it gets, the worse the eventual explosion is.
I hope tomorrow is better, too. We'll see.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 11:25 pm (UTC)My extreme sympathies....
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-10 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 12:12 am (UTC)When the local child was small(er), her father suggested we all go to a local children's theater production of Dr Seuss skits. She put both hands over her ears emphatically, shouted, "No! No doctor!" and ran out of the room in distress. Most of her visits to the pediatrician were because of ear infections, so he spent a lot of time looking in her ears with uncomfortable instruments. Even when she didn't have an ear infection, he was a careful doctor, so of course he had to look. (And those fever thermometers that measure a child's body temperature from inside the ear? Not such a win for children who have never heard of rectal thermometers.) We explained that Dr Seuss wrote "Fox in Socks" and "Hop on Pop," and was not the kind of doctor who looked in ears, and off we went.
I'm sure you have your own comfort reading list, and I hesitate to recommend anything else...what is comforting is so variable. But I find _Beacon at Alexandria_ rather good for this sort of thing. More bracing than "Fox in Socks," less overwhelmingly so than _HMS Surprise_.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 02:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 12:39 am (UTC)As a medical professional, I can tell you we reeeeeeealy appreciate mature and rational when we know it's hard to do.
For Your Amusement- Because Other People's Pain Is Funny
Date: 2006-07-11 01:16 am (UTC)I had a "Not Real Goctor!" moment a while back but was too ill to feel like posting at the time. Had a doctor tell me that I don't have asthma. That the struggle to breathe for 2 weeks had been all in my head. See, he read in my file that I'm a psych patient and therefore disregarded such trivialities as my knowledge of how my body works and two decades of experiencing asthma attacks which are helped by asthma meds and doctors who all agreed I have asthma. This guy, without even listening to my chest just knew I didn't have asthma. Said it was all anxiety. No here comes the punchline. Wait for it...
He then wrote me scrips for SIX meds for asthma and allergies... and none for anxiety.
Fortunately, the nice doctor who saw me later that day when my boss had to drive me to the ER in the middle of the workday was a little more reasonable.
If I'd felt stronger, there'd have been kicking and yelling. Sadly, I didn't have enough air for that. I had to settle for a really nasty letter of complaint to patient services later.
Re: For Your Amusement- Because Other People's Pain Is Funny
Date: 2006-07-11 02:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 03:33 am (UTC)So, what are you doing tonight to take your mind off the whole thing? Why, You could watch a movie! They're showing Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan...
um, no wait.
I know, you can relax with a book! How about the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy! Remember that part with the babel....uh....
Hmmm...
Do you knit? Maybe you could make yourself a nice hat. With extra-sturdy earflaps.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 03:41 am (UTC)I shiver in your general direction, sympathetically.
(Also, irrelevantly, I also want sangria.)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 06:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 01:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 01:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 03:44 pm (UTC)Once a nurse came up to me with a little box thing to put my finger in. My immediate question was, "Is it going to prick my finger?" She insisted that I trust her and that it wouldn't hurt. This went back and forth for a few minutes, and I finally gave up, put my finger in the thing, and braced for the worst (not something I would do again). It was just a silly heartrate reader. When the doctor came in, her eyebrows rose when she got the reading from my heart rate.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-11 03:49 pm (UTC)Hug (and Poem?)
Date: 2006-07-11 06:10 pm (UTC)And *which* poem from Ackerman's /Planets/?
marymary
Re: Hug (and Poem?)
Date: 2006-07-17 03:10 am (UTC)"When You Take Me From This Good Rich Soil"
by Diane Ackerman
When you take me from this good rich soil
to slaughter in your heavenly shambles,
rattle my bone-house until the spirit breaks;
no heart of mine will scurry at your call
to lie blank as a slug in the ground where
my hips once rocked and my long legs willowed.
No heaven could please me as my lover
does, nor match the bonfire his incendiary eyes
spark from the dead-coal through my body's cabin.
When, deep in the catehdral of my ribs,
love rings like a chant, I need no heaven.
Though you take me from this good rich soil,
where I grew like a spore in your wily heat,
rattle my bone-house until the spirit breaks;
my banquet senses are rowdy guests to keep,
and will not retire meekly with the host.
When, midwinter at the gorge, I saw
pigeons huddling like Cro-Magnon families,
no seraphic vision could have thrilled me more.
When you take me from this good rich soil,
and my heart tumbles like the chambers
of a gun to leave life's royal sweat
for your numb peace, I'll be dragging at Earth
with each cell's tiny ache, so you must
rattle my bone-house until the spirit breaks.