I had quite an adventure yesterday. I was referred to the local hospital for some tests. Ever had a nerve conduction test? No? Well ... it's a ton of fun, let me tell you.
First off, Miss Personality herself led me into a room and barked orders for me to disrobe and don the usual gaping hospital gown that looked as if it had been worn previously and not washed. (Try to ignore that fact, I told myself. It's just a piece of fabric ... ) She didn't seem all that accommodating when I offered the hint that if she would tell me what she was going to do before she proceeded, I'd be a lot more relaxed about the whole thing. But she did say, "We'll start off easy and see how it goes" before she hooked me up with wires and zapped me. It felt very similar to grabbing onto an electric fence.
“Good golly, Miss Molly. If THAT’s what you call going easy, you may want to call in reinforcements to peel me off the ceiling before continuing.” I guess it was actually just a chuckle that came out of her, but I could swear I heard an evil witch’s cackle. Then about 45 minutes more of that, with each zap a bit stronger than the previous, and I was the spitting image of the Bride of Frankenstein. That must have satisfied her, because she stopped and asked if I thought she should do the other side, as well. WHAT?!? I tried not to club her with the nearest thing handy and replied, “unless the doctor ordered it, I’m gonna pass on that.”
It’s very unnerving to have a medical sort of person muttering things like, “hmmmm ….”under their breath while they’re poking and prodding you, I’ve gotta say. She ripped the print-out from the machine and said, “I’ll go show this to Dr. Wubbawubba," (name changed because I cannot fathom how to spell what spilled from her mouth). "Then I’ll either be back to do more, or he’ll come in and insert a needle into your muscle." Oh, joy! Then she left me to ponder for about 10 minutes what that was going to be like. That should never happen with a person who has a highly developed imagination like mine.
Dr. W arrived, spoke at a volume that was nearly undetectable, giving me the low-down on what would happen next. (Was it just me, or does he look suspiciously like someone who practices Voo-Doo from a zombie movie I once saw?)
Anyway, jabbing the long needle repeatedly into me didn’t hurt nearly as much as being fried with electricity, but I had to wonder how many more places he could think of to jam that thing. He continued, and then said, “I have to go get some help. I’ll be right back.” Oh, Heaven Help Me! I had visions of him bringing back a crew of sadists who would hold me down so he could repeatedly stab me without a fight. As it turned out, one woman returned with him, only as a witness that he wasn’t doing something he shouldn’t when he decided to poke my spine, necessitating exposure of my underwear.
I survived. And I didn’t even cry. (Just had to throw that in there because DH said that while he was waiting for me, another woman came out bawling. He had a genuine look of concern when I emerged into the waiting area.)