*WARNING*
Once again, this may include far too much information. If you have a weak stomach, you may not want to proceed.
Also, this is not a plea for any sort of "on-line sympathy". Everything is fine. I'm a healthy girl. However, I will accept sympathy for my patheticness.
Patient: Me
Complaint: I feel old. Plus my heart hurts and I can't keep track of all of my moles anymore.
Appointment #1-Mole Mapping with Dr. Grossman
What's mole mapping you ask? Well, let me tell you all about it. When you have a lot of moles, like I do, you have to keep track of them. It's all about avoiding skin cancer, which I'd really prefer to do. So, there is this fabulous new "technology" that I qualified for at The Hunstman Cancer Institute where they map all of your moles and then some kind of software compares them every time you have an appointment. It cuts unnecessary biopsies by 82% (which, again, I'd really prefer).
"Genius!" you say? Don't be so sure. My little adventures in mole-mapping proved to be nothing more than
Me.
Buck naked.
Standing in front a blue sheet.
And a digital camera.
And 28 close-up photographs.
That's right. This angel is a centerfold.
At the end of my, a-hem, "photo session", the nurse assured me that on my next appointment I would get my own copies of the photos so that I can do my own mole-comparing at home.
Fabulous.
Appointment #2-Mammogram
First mammogram.
Everything I hoped for and more.
That's all I have to say about that.
Appointment #3-Stress Test and Echo cardiogram with Dr. Zito
I've been having some mysterious chest pains (probably from stress and mourning) so my Dr. ordered a bunch of tests which included an echo cardiogram (and the above mentioned mammogram). When I went to the appointment they informed me that we would also be doing a stress test.
"No biggie", I though.
Oh, it's a biggie.
Let me paint the picture.
Me, a hospital gown on top, jeans on bottom, and my beloved chuck taylors.
Lots and lots of chords attached in various locations on my upper body.
A very large belt holding a very heavy little box tied around my waist.
And a tread mill.
Did I mention that the hospital gown had to open in the front?
Did I mention that I had to get my heart rate to 168?
Did I mention that I couldn't wear anything under the gown on top so as not to interfere with the many, many wires hanging from my body?
Did I mention that I had to run, really hard, uphill, on the treadmill, for a long time?
And, did I mention that the gown opened in the front?
Not a pretty picture, I know.
Imagine how the two nurses felt.
I think I should probably send them flowers.
