Monday, January 14, 2013

too much time spent in medical facilities

I work at a hospital. 

I'm averaging a doctors appointment every fortnight.  That's how often I get paid.

The other day I had series of rather expensive pictures taken of my head. $480 dollars worth. At that price, you'd think they'd print it on a canvas for me so I could mount it on my bedroom wall. It was a strange experience. I was locked inside a white tunnel by a friendly lady with wild curly black hair and a wide smile. I had ear muffs and an antenna (I. Shit. You. Not) strapped around my head while I laid, stuck stiff in what I imagined a coffin must feel like - a really clean, noisy coffin. Every now and then, the technicians voice would bounce in my ears, sort of like if God were a chick: "hold still... this one goes for 2 minutes.. you're doing well... are you ok?" I closed my eyes as I counted out each estimate she gave me, I couldn't bear to be reminded that I was trapped.  The noise and vibrations produced by the machine were so violent at times that my ear muffs moved all on their own. The sounds began to remind me of the dance music you see glow-stick wielding bogans bopping to - the kind of music I hate. Finally it was over, I was being moved out of the machine.  To my surprise, it wasn't the calm-voiced, overweight, female technician I was expecting; instead, I was greeted by a very attractive 'dude'.  This guy looked like one of Raphael's Sistine Cherubs had escaped from the chapel and grown into a Ralph Lauren model - he had piercing blue eyes, and a perfectly chiselled face - and I felt perfectly inadequate when I rolled on outta that machine freaked and frazzled.

Over the weekend I had to pay a visit to the Emergency Department - the most un-favourite of places for sensible people the world over. I had been suffering quite a bad headache that day, and coupled with neck pain, my nerve endings decided they would play funny buggers and start giving me pins and needles in my face and fingers. I thought I could be having a stroke. The E.D nurse who really should have 'the guy who knows everything' typed on his I.D badge told me I could stop crying now, I wasn't having a stroke, that it was a 'classic migraine'. Fucktard. Although pleased I'm not dead due to stroke, aneurysm or the like, you could say I was unappreciative of his particular brand of 'reassurance'.

Some days are dry, some days are leaky
Some days come clean, other days are sneaky
Some days take less, but most days take more
Some slip through your fingers and onto the floor
Some days you're quick, but most days you're speedy
Some days you use more force than is necessary
Some days just drop in on us
Some days are better than others

Some days it all adds up
And what you got is not enough
Some days are better than others...
(U2 'Some days are better than others')

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