Another cunning plan has gone wrong! I got some free samples of skin cleanser that is used to remove dried on glue from the stoma bag site. My glasses lens was very grubby so I decided to clean them with the wipes. I wiped my lenses with them and they melted! It’s a good job it was only my £2.99 pair from ASDA and not my £171 pair from the opticians. It is now like looking through a bathroom window. A steamed up bathroom window. It is a very good skin cleanser nevertheless. But really crap glasses cleaner.
Wednesday 24th February and I have got busy day. I went out to the car on Monday night to take Irene and Kath to the club but it wouldn’t start. I hope that it is just a flat battery. Picko saved me by lending me his car and I am extremely grateful and I don’t want to call the lad but his Shirley Bassey and Judy Garland C.D.s do send out a certain messagae if you know what I mean!
I arrived early at the treatment centre at ten to one when my appointment was for 1.00pm. I fill in the safety form. Any metal objects, cochlea implants, pacemakers etc? Well I haven’t. Then its through the security doors and take everything off except for my Pierre Cardin underclarts and my shoes. I put two gowns on, the second one in reverse to cover the not inconsiderable gap at the back.
The radiographer comes through and takes me into the interview room to make sure I haven’t got any implanted metal. She says they are running late but it’s not her fault. “Blame them who make the appointments” she says. I never said a word. So it’s back to the chair in the waiting area. The place seems deserted. I don’t know where all of these people are.
A cheery chappie comes through the doors making two “V for Victory” signs. I am not sure what that was all about but he had a big cheesy grin from ear to ear. Then it is my turn to walk up the corridor to the MRI room. “Lie down on the couch” says the radiographer’s assistant pointing to a platform about six inches wide. Well it seems like it. “Can you move three inches down?” and I shuffle down dragging my two gowns up and exposing my Pierre Cardins. I try and pull the gowns down to no avail and no one wants to help so I stay where I am and pray that my gonads aren’t poking out.
Last year I was wearing shorts at a barbeque when Irene said that “she could see my tonsils” meaning that one of my testiclés was poking out. Bill overheard her and grabbed his throat with one hand. “Here’s my bollocks!” he said grabbing his groin with his other hand exclaiming “And here’s my tonsils!”
Anyway, I digress. The radiographer put my ear muffs on and was given the bulb with the panic button and they retreated to their X ray proof cabin. I am moved into the ring of the machine which starts banging and cracking. I really don’t mind the noise but what I find difficult is holding both my hands above my head. It is absolute agony what with my frozen shoulder and all. I lay there for what seems an age and then the radiographer comes on and says that there is only twenty five minutes to go. “Twenty five minutes!” I think. It seems like I have been there for hours. A full body scan is over in about the same time as my pelvic one. At long last the scan is over and I can finally get some blood back in my arms.
I go back to the locker to retrieve my clothes and there is an elderly lady sitting on her own. I ask her if she is on her own and has she been before. She says that she hasn’t been before but many people have told her that it is claustrophobic, noisy, scary and hot. I really don’t know what kicks anyone gets from frightening vulnerable people. I tell her it is not that bad but she had better tell the radiographer of her concerns and that they are in contact all the time and all she has to do is squeeze the bulb and they will stop. Good deed done I get dressed and make my escape.
Then it’s back home to wait for my doctor’s appointment at ten past four.
