The radiographer with the white plastic tool and the pot of slimy stuff was young, female, taller than me and somewhat taciturn. She was, however, wearing scrubs, and few things endear me to a young woman more than the wearing of scrubs. I told her that I had written something about scrubs on my blog once, to the effect that I wondered why young women didn’t go to nightclubs in them since they’re far sexier than what young women routinely wear to nightclubs. She seemed unimpressed. Taciturn people usually do. So when she asked me to remove all my garments above the waist and I felt inclined to reply ‘I will if you will’, I chose discretion and kept my mouth shut. Remarks like that, however innocently meant, don’t go down too well these days, and rightly so.
She proceeded with the little white plastic tool and the pot of slimy stuff without saying a word, as you would expect of a taciturn person. The upshot of this was that I had no idea what, if anything, she was finding which might give cause for concern. She told me that her report would be sent to the cardiology department and I would be advised of the outcome in due course. So many words for such a taciturn person. I said ‘thank you for your time’ and she replied ‘you’re welcome.’ And that was that.
Next stop the vending machine on the way back to the car park. I’d decided to celebrate the successful prosecution of yet another procedure (that’s the 40th in less than four years) with a cup of hot chocolate. Unfortunately, I omitted to read the instructions and performed the operation in the wrong order, the consequence of which was that I spent £2 on my debit card and received only an empty paper cup in return. I read the instructions and was faced with a decision: whether it was better to spend £2 and receive nothing, or spend £4 and get what I wanted. I chose the latter; it seemed the more positive approach. My first sip of the steaming beverage was immediately spat out (it’s fortunate that I’d taken it outside so I could remove my face mask.) It wasn’t so much steaming as searing. I suspect the machine needs a little adjustment.
So was that a good day or a bad one? You decide. I’m tired.
Meanwhile, I have a consultation with the urology department coming up on Wednesday, at their request. I can be quite sure that it won’t have anything to do with my heart, but apart from that I’m in the dark. The word of the moment is ‘waiting.’
Oh, I forgot to mention... The only truly notable feature of today's echocardiogram procedure was the fact that the machine which produced the images occasionally went into audio mode and I could hear my heart pumping blood. As reassuring as the sound was for obvious reasons, I couldn't decide whether it sounded like a pig gobbling swill or a dog being sick.
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