The Worst Experience of My Adult Life (OK, well, not literally)

A little update:

So, it turns out that K/BWE and I were not so happy with Dr. Famous Squamous yesterday. He is extremely eminent, but does not seem to be the most emotionally sensitive doc. For instance, he poo-poo'ed my concern that we should think very hard before considering the use of cis or carbo-platin, the chemo agents that made me dependent on hearing aids since 2005.(1) Also, I have not had the best experience with the surgeons at Wicked Famous (see yesterday's post), and those surgeons are on his team. Yet he insists that we stick to his team only.

We may stay with Famous Squamous, but we are lucky enough to be in a town with several top flight hospitals. There are some other very eminent people at another local hospital, including a surgeon I have met before and who comes highly recommended by Dr. Fixer.(2) Bottom line: I want to have a rapport with the quarterback in the biggest game of my life (so far), and I want to have confidence in the team.(3)

But that was not the worst experience of my adult life. That happened today.

K/BWE were already emotionally wrecked by thinking and talking about my team and treatments.  Then, I had to go for an MRI at Ben and Jerry's at 6:45pm. We drove to the hospital early to make sure traffic wouldn't make us late, parked, and went into the main hospital for dinner at the Au Bon Pain in the lobby.(4)(5)

This MRI was scheduled, not in the usual radiology suite, but in a building across the road from the main hospital. As we crossed the road, there was an ominous sign (literally). It was a sign that they put in front of the door of said building the very moment we started crossing the street. We had to go back to the main hospital and cross the bridge.  We walked over into a large, eerily empty building.  There were no signs indicating that there was an MRI, or even a radiology suite, anywhere in the building except something about a silly ultrasound place.

We began to wander the halls. It was a labyrinth. Eventually, a doctor walked by on her way out, and we asked where the MRI was.  She told us it was on L2, and led us to the elevator.(6) Only in the elevator was there an indication that an MRI was in the building.

But the worst was yet to come!

I was escorted to the MRI dressing room by a very nice tech. Taped to the wall of that room was a frightening picture (see below).

It took two tries for the tech to get the IV in, but she was nice about it, and we laughed, so that was not so terrible.

But then, the worst experience of my adult life!

I entered the MRI suite. The techs had me lie down on the scan bed. They put headphones in my ears. They asked what music I wanted. I asked for oldies. Then they put earmuffs over the earphones, and the scan bed slid into the tube of the machine.(7) 

A few minutes in, IT started. I began to scream at the top of my lungs, "Make it stop, make it stop!"

"Sir, are you claustrophobic??"

"No! It's the music! That is the WORST cover of The Sound of Silence that I have ever heard!"(8)

I am not lying. It was soul-destroying.

Mercifully, they turned it off.(9)

*                       *                       *

(1) I like talking, but I also like to hear what other people have to say sometimes.

(2) http://www.tumoriffic.org/LLC.htm

(3) It's important to have a doctor who knows your values and will be guided by them (as long as that is medically appropriate). Also, you need to trust the people who may operate on you.

(4) In French, the means, "oh, good pain!"

(5) Many the time, in 2005, during the nights when I was inpatient for chemo and couldn't sleep, I would wheel my IV pole into the elevator, take it to the lobby, and pick up some yummies at "McFrance."*  (Oh, sweet memory!)

* I stole "McFrance" from a song played by a friend's band.

(6) Oddly, Doctor Ariadne was carrying a large ball of thread and spoke in an archaic Greek accent.  Totally got us where we needed to go, though!  (Even oddlier, we think we might have heard a faint, terrifying bovine roar from around a distant corner.)

(7) I recommend closing your eyes for MRIs. Then, you can pretend you're not in such a small tube. I actually find it cozy, myself.

(8) Imagine if The Sound of Silence were sung by a perky twelve-year-old who can't carry a tune.  Seriously. ARRRGGGHHHH! That is my favorite song! I sing it in harmony with my best friend. 

I am scarred forever.

(9) To top it off, there was a complaint box in the waiting room, but when I eagerly approached it, I saw that there were no complaint slips.  The horror.  The horror.





This was the terrifying flyer posted in the changing room.  Note that neither of the figures pictured have heads.  Also, neither of them have human proportions.  The one the left is clearly some kind of troll, and the one on the right is one of those tall skinny aliens whose head would have been grotesquely enormous before it was chopped off.