Have you ever been utterly undone by the most ordinary of things without a graceful way to recover? Or perhaps not recover at all? Or is that just me?
After yet another stress fracture, my doctor decided we should check my bone density more closely among other things. I was thinking he would just put my foot in a cast and send me on my merry way, but that would be too easy. Too straight forward. So he sent off for a radioactive dye injection and scan test.
Now I am okay with needles. Heck I give myself needles all the time and have blood drawn on a regular basis. So this should be easy as pie right? What should make it even easier is the realization that I’ve had this test done before, many years ago. Nothing to worry about. A small injection, a wait time followed by a scan and you are on your way.
Except for some reason this was anything but simple. I signed papers accepting the risk of the radioactive dye. I was injected and found a place to wait for the required time to come back. Even made it back without issue. Yep so far nothing is undone.
I don’t remember this part of the process from before, but this time I was handed one of those hospital gowns because “no metal” is allowed in the scanner. I was sent off to the world’s smallest change area and given five seconds to get out of the street clothes and into the dreaded gown. Okay it wasn’t five seconds, it seemed that way though. And that my friends was the beginning of my undoing right there, just that thin, flimsy piece of material.
For some reason I struggle to get out of my shirt and bra when any other time there are no issues. My arms get stuck at odd angles or trapped in the sleeves in an awkward way. By the time I get that sorted out there are ties to try to line up and get done up so I’m not showing more than I want because there are sick people present and there is no need to make anyone feel any more sick than they already do.
Ties done up, pants off and then I remember I have a necklace to remove. Which somehow makes those pesky ties untie themselves like magic. And by the time I get them tied back up I’m a sweaty mess of “I don’t want to be here anymore” and planning to just throw in the towel and say forget it. Except there is a technician waiting for me.
Actually by this point the technician is waiting for me right outside that cubical, asking if I require assistance. Which of course I do, but I’m not about to admit I’m having a tie issue so I just muddle through and try to whip back the curtain with a flourish, but instead trip myself up. And you just know those pesky ties won’t stay put until I make it to the scanning machine, not a chance. The pleasant tech simply hands me another gown to use as a robe and we get on with the scanning because by now it’s taken longer than anticipated and I’m pretty sure there is a one way mirror somewhere with half the medical staff having a good chuckle at my struggles.
Scan complete and I get to make my way back to the safety of clothes. Real clothes, my own even, but the damage is done. There is no way to pull out of this with dignity or anything and I can’t even begin to explain how my normal flat hair is now standing out on end like some sort of prickly weed.
So I toss everything on and leave in a hurry only to discover in the elevator that in my haste I failed to actually zip my pants up, one pant leg is rolled up for some reason and to top it all off I put on my shirt backwards. But hey at least someone got a laugh out of it! Now I will need to find another medical testing place to lose my dignity in.