Here I am, sitting at the out-patient office of my GI doctor, waiting to have a camera shoved down my throat for the fifth (5th) time. I’m not sure what they are looking for, but I sure hope they find it this time.

There are three rows of seats in here. Lots of people too. They aren’t all waiting for camera shoving. Every patient must have someone sit in the uncomfortable chairs, read old magazines, and be bored, while the patient, me in this case, sleeps through most of it.

There are two plants in here. One looks great. The other looks traumatized, perhaps even cameracized.

There are no vending machines in here or even a bottled water cooler. Good thing too. I’d rip that sumbitch open and partake of the goodies. I have not been allowed to eat solid food since midnight. It is now 12:45 p.m. The next day. I also have not been allowed to drink anything since 7 a.m. this morning. My mouth is dry. Very dry. Stick together dry.

There are three women sitting to my right. One older than me, reading a book. One older than me, reading a magazine. One bleached blonde bitch drinking water. Cold, Aquafina water. Thirst quenching water. Bitch.

She should know better. With all the thirsty, hungry, people in here her life could be in danger.

If that’s not bad enough¸ there is a guy sitting in row two, in front of me, munching away on a bag of O’Boise barbeque fake potato chips. If that sumbitch don’t finish them soon, he may need a camera shoved somewhere to remove a foot that is correctly placed.

To my left is an elegant (I hate her already), Asian lady reading a large print book. She isn’t eating, or drinking, which is a good idea. Her elegance is enough to make me hate her.

Two Chatty Cathy type women are here now. I hate them too. They aren’t speaking loud enough for me to eavesdrop on them. Dammit.

The older, book reading, lady has just been added to my hit list. She is drinking, and not just plain ole water. That bitch has a cold coca cola. I hate her more with every drink.

I haven’t been registered for the procedure yet, which means I’m a long way from being drugged. Too bad for them. As long as I’m awake, I can record all the activity.

There is one registration/receptionist type person, two doors and a host of forms keeping me from my date with drugs and a camera. My hit list is growing fast.

Note: Only the Chatty Cathies are sitting next to each other. That means one person, one chair, one person, one chair. There isn’t much hope for two people to sit next to each other.

WOW! 1:20 p.m. and I made it through registration. One step closer to wonderland. Sign. Verify. Swear not to make any critical decisions for the rest of the day. The choice of spaghetti or lasagna is up to someone else and the pressure is off.

Oh my. Two men are here now. I don’t hate them. Men by nature speak louder than women. The conversations are normally less interesting also. Houses / Real Estate / Losing a bundle. Blah. Blah. Blah. HAP program. Blah. Blah. Blah. I am exposed to ignorance and bigotry. St. Augustine. Nuking. Good shit.

Drug me now please.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Concentrate on the door opening. N.O.W.

1:35 p.m. and I am now in the room where they hook you up. Literally.

I have three stickers on my chest and am sporting three wires down the front of my gown. Delicately placed there by Jill, the lady in charge of the green footies with bear paw grippers on the bottom so I don’t fall when I walk. I also have on 2 hospital gowns. One on the right way. One on the wrong way to cover my derriere that is still wearing my pants. Jill the Medical Technician is in charge of all this and she does a fine job of it.

Jill to man behind curtain number one: Come back and see us.

1:43 p.m. I should be in LaLa land. I am not. I also am not happy about it. I am, however, hungry, thirsty, and just a tad bit mean.

Ohhhh, they just told me Dr. GoodDrugs is coming to see me. And he is here.

Yes sir I do like your drugs. No sir, never had a problem with them. Surgeries? Yes, I’ve had them all. Needles? No sir, I don’t like them. My body does not like them and it will prove it by hiding all my veins from you and your ilk.

Your nurses are good? If you say so. They can look all they want, but get one stick, then it’s up to you.

Shirley, bless her heart, gets the job of not only locating a vein in my arm, but sticking a needle in to it and getting it to behave.

She finds nothing in the left arm, exactly what I said she would find there. “We don’t like to use the right arm because you have to lay on your right side.”

“Honey, this is the fifth time here, in this office, for this procedure, and it has always been in the right arm.”

Five gold stars for Shirley. First stick and it stuck, so to speak.

Things move fast now and so do I. Off to the procedure room. Get hooked up to something. Get a bite grip or something in my mouth. Warn all of them of them of the impending blog. They love it.

I am back. Well, maybe not back but awake.

Ali, is now my best friend. She offers me coke once I can sit up. I sit up fast sometimes.

I am wheeled to the results room where the main Dr. Camera comes to say they didn’t find anything more than they did the last time the procedure was performed. He wrote a script for some new illegal drug that he thinks will help.

Well okay then. It’s not some street drug, just our FDA has seen fit to make those who need the drug order the drug from Canada or some other country, but that’s another story.

I sign more papers swearing not to choose spaghetti or lasagna tonight. I am given a card for a follow up appointment, which I’ve already forgotten. I am sent on my merry way to find the nearest food joint and relieve the gnawing hunger.

From the life and mind of:

Wanda M. Argersinger

©2010 All Rights Reserved

Note: I warned everyone I could at the doctor’s office of this pending blog. Well, actually, I threatened them with it. Be nice to me and treat me well and the blog won’t be too punishing. So, thanks to Dr. Cartee, Dr. Mondry (aka Dr. Good Drugs), Jill, Gold-Star Shirley, Emily, Sarah, Camille, and Ali for making what could have been a traumatic experience almost fun (almost).

This Post Has 8 Comments

  1. From the sounds of your visit, it’s a darn good thing you and our friend Molly weren’t at the same office at the same time. Might have been way too much for Florida!
    And for “this” (your typical experience), we are supposed to be thrilled that the gov’t. is finding new ways to pay the good doctors even more? Arghh!

    1. Kylia

      Thre’es nothing like the relief of finding what you’re looking for.

  2. Sharon

    Hilarious! Because it’s you and not me. I hope all those med prof read this and understand the experience from our side.

  3. Molly Swoboda

    Sorry they didn’t find anything interesting, Wanda. What a drag. At least I get to go back so they can get the tag number of that little Tonka truck roaring around my super highway.

  4. Dawn

    Wanda! I laughed out loud. “That bitch!” Only you, Wanda. Only you could make this funny. I love love loved it!

  5. Jay Hudson

    Oh my Gosh! Wanda, this was rib-tickling funny. I have had the procedures done several times, at both ends. After the third one I said to myself” to hell with your damn rules, Doc! I’m starving to death here, and I’m diabetic.I’m sipping a little Diet Sprite cause it leaves no evidence. Catch me if Ya can you Sumbitch!”
    Jay Hudson

  6. Jo Worsham

    OK, were you sitting there with your lap top writing all this? And no one was suspicious? I think you just have L-bow neck, from bending over the lap top and writing. I prescribe a full bottle of wine, a package of Oreo cookies, and a lap top screen hung over your bed, keyboard at an angle. No L-bow neck! If you can make fun of all that, I’m not too worried. Hope you get to feeling better really soon…for the safety of the medical profession.

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