TheBanyanTree: My Big Adventure

[Monique Colver]

Trepiditiously I entered the medical facility.

Wait. Trepiditious is not even a word, and it doesn't even describe my
entrance. I walked in. Just like that. I went to the lab first for my
fasting blood test, something I've been putting off. I took a number, as if
I were at a bakery, and I sat down. I had 505. They were on number 450. I
looked at the time on my G1. I looked at my number. I looked at the time. I
decided to come back later so I wouldn't miss my appointment, which was the
real reason I was there.

                My regular doctor is on 2 South. I thought they'd said his
stand-in for this week would be on 2 North, so I walked up the huge
staircase. It's good exercise anyway. I checked in at 2 North where I was
told that I was supposed to be at 1 North. So I walked down another flight
of stairs which put me smack dab in 1 North. I checked in and handed over my
copay. I sat down. I began notifying people that I was as far as the waiting
room. Now that I have a G1, I can do that at any time, which serves mostly
to annoy all my friends because who really needs a minute-by-minute update
of my activities? I mean, really?

                Denise or Sally or whoever called me in, and made me stop at
the scale. The dreaded scale. I gasped at the displayed numbers and
attempted to lower it by removing more clothing, but Denise or Sally quickly
put a stop to that. Apparently that's against policy. She took me a room
which had a number between 1 and 100. I sat down. Denise or Sally took my
blood pressure and asked me what my problem was.

                I started talking about the state of the economy, and how
jobs are scarce, not that I want one. Then I told her how most of my
problems stem from a lack of nurturing when I was a child. When Denise or
Sally started looking at her watch I returned to what she really wanted to
know, which was the reason for my visit. They really should specify which
problems they want to hear about.

                Sally or Denise wanted to take a look at my problem, so I
lifted up my shirt and said, "There it is!" Sally or Denise turned white and
shrieked "eeks!" but I put my shirt down quickly before she passed out.

                Sally or Denise put out an interesting assortment of
instruments and tools for the doctor, in case the doctor wanted to cut into
me, which was pretty much a given by then.

                I was left alone to my own devices, and I changed into what
they like to call a gown. It's not the most flattering color for me, but I
try not to complain about these things too much. I sat down and took out my
book, and got as far as the next page when my doctor came in.

                Rebecca, my doctor, took one look and repeated what Denise
or Sally had said, which was, basically, "eek!" She followed that with,
"That looks painful." I agreed that it did indeed look painful and was, in
fact, quite.

                I laid down. My first inclination when laying down is to
fall asleep, since the cyst from hell, aka alien pod, wakes me up at night
and I end up not getting enough sleep. But Rebecca was having none of that.
She began to poke and prod me to see how far the alien pod had extended. It
was in the midst of taking over the entire upper half of my body (or so it
seemed to my untrained eye) and it took Rebecca some time to determine where
to start sucking out the alien pod. We talked about my abysmal test results,
and I told her I was on my way to get my fasting blood work done once she
finished with me.

                "So you can't feed me while I'm here," I told her, wanting
to make sure she understood.

                "That's good," she replied, "Because we hardly ever feed
people here."

                "I just wanted to make sure, in case you felt like offering
me a scone or a cupcake or something. I just like to make sure you know."

                I don't know why doctors laugh at me. I think it's because
my ailments are so funny. Easy for them to say.

                Rebecca approached with a needle which she stuck into the
alien pod. That was rather painful, but I was in no position to complain.
Apparently this was to numb the alien pod so it wouldn't know it was being
invaded. After, oh, a minute, the alien pod started feeling a bit numb, and
I could barely hear it whisper, "Help me, I'm fading . . . "

                Then Rebecca approached with another sharp instrument and
ACK! Pierced the alien pod! The alien pod didn't feel it, not really, other
than some pressure. I looked at the cartoon on the ceiling while Rebecca
squished the life out of the alien pod. And squished. And squished.

                "My," she said, "There's an amazing amount of stuff in
here."

                "Hmmm," I said. Not knowing the appropriate response, I
opted for, "I'm an overachiever."

                Then I asked what it was that was coming out. Rebecca said
it was blood and pus and did I want to look?

                "Of course!" I said, "If I can't describe it to my friends
they'll never forgive me!" So I lifted up my head and saw what appeared to
be, yup, icky stuff. Big blobs of it. Wow. And such pretty colors, if the
light is right. The light wasn't right today, however.

                Apparently the alien pod hadn't even remained intact within
itself, but was separating into separate little alien pods, no doubt in an
effort to take over, first my body, then the world. This meant much more
poking and prodding to get into every alien pod. Rebecca took a culture, but
I'm pretty sure this alien pod is totally uncultured. It didn't even wait
for an invitation, but descended upon me without notice, so it certainly
hasn't any manners.

                Eventually Rebecca gave up, hoping she'd gotten most of it.
Indeed, when she finished the alien pod was more walnut sized, and less golf
ball sized, so this is progress. Antibiotics for 10 days to destroy the
infection of the alien pod, and I was sent on my way. I thanked Rebecca and
Denise or Sally profusely, quite grateful to leave most of my alien pod
behind with them.

                I then returned to the lab. I had to start over with a
bakery number, but the wait was short. Then I went to the pharmacy and took
another number. While waiting for a pharmacist to come explain to me that I
was getting an antibiotic I witnessed a sterling example of customer service
at the next window. A pharmacy tech was attempting to explain to the elderly
hard-of-hearing lady that she'd picked a number from the wrong slot. Instead
of picking from 1, which was for new prescriptions, she'd picked from 2,
which was for refills. "I'm going to take care of this for you," he told
her, "But in the future, if it's a new prescription, you want to take a
number from 1, not 2."

                "What?" she asked, cocking her head just slightly to the
right, her eyes behind her thick glasses going a little cross eyed. "The
doctor told me come down here."

                "Right," he said, "But this is a new prescription, not a
refill, so next time you have a new prescription, take from 1 instead of 2."

                "Huh? Do I have to go get another number?"

                "No, I'm going to help you, but next time you'll want to
pick from the right one because now I have to get a pharmacist to talk to
you."

                "But the doctor told me to pick it up here."

                The funny thing is, next time she comes back it'll probably
be to get a refill on this prescription but she'll pick from 1 instead of 2.
Okay, maybe it's not that funny, but perhaps I find it so just because I'm
so happy I'm alone again in my body.

                And then I went home to tend to my incision, apply heat, and
see what else will come spewing out of it. Good times. And I got a speeding
ticket on the way home. This was also an adventure when the nice patrolman
who pulled me over demanded to know who Stew Young was, since it's his name
on the title . . . still, though mine, at least my old name, is right below
it. "That's my dead ex-husband," I said, and he doesn't mind if I drive the
car.

                Which, as far as I know, is true.