In You Go

 

As my doctor has made clear to me, "You are exceedingly healthy and fit for a man of 67 years of age."

Which is true considering I've never spent a night in a hospital bed in my entire life. I did spend a night in a hospital chair while my oldest daughter, who can sometimes be stubborn like all Siegels, refused to exit the birth canal for well over 32 hours. 

Hey hospital administrators, what about cots?

But now it seems my fate is turning. For the last few months I've been plagued by a nagging, burning, stabbing, numbing radiating pain in my right leg. Sometimes it's near my ankle. Other times it's in my hamstring. And other times it can't decide where it wants to be and travels around like Chris Christie at a Golden Corral Dessert Bar.

Naturally, my first inclination was to contact Dr. Google. I did my research and came to the conclusion that I probably have sciatica. That diagnosis was confirmed by the Physician's Assistant I saw last Wednesday. Such is the state of our "World Class Healthcare System." She promptly set me up with MRI.

In addition to never spending a night in a hospital bed I've never had the pleasure of doing an MRI. And was actually looking forward to it. Perhaps I should have done more research. Or visited the YouTube Clinic on Diagnostic Experiences. 

I know I should've doubled up on the edibles.

Having gone camping for many years, with my family in tow, I don't have any issues with being enclosed in tight spaces. My daughters on the other hand always monitored my intake of legumes, especially beans before entering the tent.. Enough said. 

Nor do I have any issues with staying still or getting a good lie down. Colleagues will tell you I often napped under my desk on the carpeted floors of Chiat/Day, Team One, BBDO, Bozell, Y&R and many others.

As such I thought the experience would be unique. I'd slide into the tube, listen to music, and let the magnets do their thing. No one said anything to me about the heat, the loud clanging, the incessant buzzing and the discomfort of staying perfectly still lest I run the risk of having to start the whole fucking thing over again.

When the 11 minutes were up the table slid out of the human abattoir and a grinning technician hovered over me and said, "how was that?"

"That wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be."

Then he told me he had good news and bad news, which do you want first? 

"Give me the bad news." (I think all Jews do that)

"You were perfect, you didn't move at all. But we didn't get a good scan from this machine. It's OK, but I think we can do better in the smaller machine. Follow me."

With that he led me across the hall, applied oil to my body and inserted me into the narrower machine, which was also louder, hotter and noisier.

I emerged rattled and needing a stiff three finger shot of rye whiskey. I not only went in for my first MRI, I was treated to a second on the same day.

I got dressed. As I was walking out, I ran into the technician again and asked, "what was the good news?"

"I don't know, I forgot."