A Spirit's Prank
Comment: SpiritLinks
"Oh," I said, and at the risk of pain upon moving,
I began to shake with laughter. The assisting nurse turned her back to us but
her heaving shoulders gave her away. She was laughing too.
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When you have a WBC
count of greater than 100 and this is not the first UTI for you this year, you
need to see the urologist for a cystography," my primary care physician
told me.
"That sounds
like it involves a catheter," I said trying to sound cooperative but
desirable of other options.
"That's
right," she said. And somewhere in the detailed explanation of why I
needed the procedure, she added, "You're my only patient who can pronounce
it."
Oh goodie, I win
again, I thought. Star Trek inspired the creation of cell phones, laptop
computers and MRIs. Why hasn't anyone come up with the gadget they just wave
over you once to determine the medical problem; recalibrate settings; wave
again and "poof" you're cured?
What to wear to the
urologist's office – a question only a woman would ponder? When the day came, I
decided on a skirt that is loose enough for fat days and flows with a little
sex appeal, though not for the doctor but to give me confidence in some realm
of existence when I felt endangered. The skirt appears to be a wrap-around but
when the wind blows and you think you might see something that should make me
blush, you see only that it is a fake wrap-around and reveals nothing more than
that. That says something about me but that topic must wait for another column.
I chose it this day in hopes that I could keep it on and at worse remove only
my tights and underwear, thus remaining essentially dressed.
I arrived at the
appointment early to get comfortable with my surroundings, to set the energy
some might say. The nurse called me in a moment later. Okay, speed up relaxed
mode!
The nurse walked
into the room ahead of me. "Uh oh," I said as I stepped into a
chamber of horrors. Bright lights and pastel walls did not camouflage the large
hydraulic torture table; weird lights; robotic tools; and leg stirrups (not
just for feet like in the ob/gyn office). The table was only slightly less
scary than the old tables with leather wrist straps used in delivery rooms
during the sixties, when I was pregnant – from 1963 to 69 with 4 babies to be
specific. This table, I learned, is used for proctology, urology, gynecology or
any other study of intimate body parts a doctor may prod, poke or otherwise
disturb or disassemble.
The nurse started to
say, "here's a gown but you can use it to drape over you, or."
I interrupted.
"Is there going to be discussion first? Is there no room for
negotiation?"
"No
negotiation," I heard from another room.
The nurse started
toward the doctor's office, then poked her head back in to say, "He'll be
right in to talk with you."
"Good." I
replied. One breath in, one breath out. Stay in body. Look doctor in the eye
when he comes in.
Tap, tap, I heard on
the half-open door. "I'm Dr. [something]" he said and shook my hand.
"Sit there." He pointed to a small normal chair. "What can I do
for you? Why are you here today?" He sat on a stool several feet away,
perhaps not to appear intimidating, perhaps not to be intimidated by the
patient who wanted to negotiate.
"I ran through
the briefest version of my reasons for being there as eloquently as one can be
when saying "I get recurring infections and Dr Pont said I must see you
because my WBCs and RBCs were high."
"Why do you
think you keep getting infections?' he asked.
"Because I have
lupus," I answered.
That must have been
the right answer because Dr. something said something to the effect,
"Well, what I like to do when circumstances such as these present, is
[something, something] catheter. Just to be sure everything looks all
right."
"Oh," I
said. "Okay." At this point in my consumer's medical education, I
long to hear, "Aha, I know what's wrong. Let me set it right and you'll be
on your way and better than new."
Instead, I heard,
"Just take off your clothes from the waist down and get up on the
table." So, Dr. something left the room and I pulled up my skirt, pulled
off my tights and underwear, folded them and laid them under my purse on the
chair. I climbed onto the table, thinking whenever there is going to be an
instrument inserted into an orifice of the body that is smaller than the tool,
you are in for an unpleasant and undignified procedure that will elicit the
thought if not an audible "ouch." I felt fortunate, though, to at
least have a doctor who was promising to be as gentle and quick as possible.
The nurse returned
to the room and mumbled something about my clothes, so I lifted my skirt above
the cover and held it with my chin. She walked over to the counter and came
back at me with something like a carwash mop and sloshed me wildly with
betadine, an antiseptic containing iodine used in hospitals for ages.
"This is going
to hurt a little," the doctor said. It did. Breath in, breath out, tensing
will make it worse, I said to myself. Relax; your muscles are at peace.
Part way through the
procedure the doctor sort of yelped, simultaneously rolling his stool back, and
groaned a little.
"Did something
go wrong?" I asked.
"Oh, the hose
came apart, and instead of sending the water into you, I squirted it into my
lap," he answered.
"Oh," I
said, and at the risk of pain upon moving, I began to shake with laughter.
The nurse turned her
back to us but her shoulders gave her away; she was laughing too.
"You like
that," Dr. something said. "She likes that," he said to the
nurse.
"Well.
Yes." I replied, trying not to overdo. "Poetic justice, isn't
it?"
"I suppose it
is," he snickered.
I think it was a spirit's revenge on my behalf
-- a prankster spirit. I so needed a good laugh and Dr. something was kind
enough to take the spirit's prank well.
Everything inside is
in it's proper place and no hideous alien creatures appear to be inhabiting my
body, so I probably won't see Dr. something again, but he'll probably remember
me for quite a while.
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Diana deRegnier writes SpiritLinks for UPI www.ReligionandSpirituality.com from the San Francisco Bay Area emphasizing humor, pathos and encouragement for a vibrant spirit. Diana is a freelance writer and editor and webmaster for the nonprofit program http://www.SpiritLinksNewsletter.org (SLN) for spiritual explorers of any or no religious affiliation. Write to Diana at spiritlinks@comcast.net © copyright 2007 by Diana deRegnier