OK, here's one: I don't have central air. I cool my house in the summer with two window air conditioners, one on each floor. This summer has been a godsend - cool enough that the units were rarely used. I mean, like maybe two weeks total. They've been off for the last month, since we got back from vacation (see also: torn meniscus).
So on Tuesday this week, I spend the morning putting the air conditioners away for the year. And no sooner do I finish and change my sweaty t-shirt, the humidity jumps 30 percent and the temperature goes into the 80's for the rest of the week. How does that happen every single year?!!
I'll bet if I left them in until Christmas we could have Orlando in central Illinois: 70 degree weather in December.
UPDATE: I turned the furnace on today, so nighttime highs will probably shoot into the seventies...
Friday, September 25, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
in which our hero receives an MRI...
Magnetic Resonance Imaging. M-R-I. A super duper camera that actually takes a picture of your innards from outside by magically manipulating the Earth's magnetic field. Or something.
You may recall from our last episode that while on vacation, I tore the meniscus in my left knee. I don't know exactly what a meniscus is, but I can tell you if you tear it, it will hurt like crazy. And to tear it going off the high dive? Bad karma, man.
But then, the bad karma may be justified. After all, didn't I instigate the near demise of the high dive during the hottest vacation anyone can remember? That was the summer everyone was in the water, and we created a high dive game called left-middle-right. We'd que up and rapid fire jump off the high dive - one to the left, one down the middle, one to the right. By the time you got to the 4th person for the left again, the first person was out of the way. Boing, boing, boing, bloosh bloosh bloosh. Well, I reasoned we could maximize our fun by seeing how boings and blooshes in a row we could get. So I rallied the troops, and off we went to 'set the record'. The good news was we got 21 in a row. The bad news was we nearly capsized the swim raft in the process because we had so many people up on the high dive platform, and nearly gave the owner of the resort a heart attack when she saw what was about to happen. Now there's a limit of 6 people on the high dive platform. So maybe the high dive remembered I almost got it killed, and extracted its revenge.
Or perhaps I should stop ascribing human qualities to inanimate objects and get on with the story...
Regardless of how or why it happened, I now find myself on the wrong side of the doctor-patient relationship with my wife's Orthopaedist. He used to be her doc, but now he's OUR doc. Yeesh.
And, OUR doc won't make a final diagnosis or discuss options without an MRI. Thus, immediately after the perfuntory office visit, I receive the scheduled appointment for my very own, first-of-my-life MRI.
For the entire week before the MRI, I attempt to be a model patient. You know, like studying for a blood test. I refrain from mowing my grass or other necessary landscaping chores. I try not to walk any more than I have to. I ice my knee regularly, all in hopes of passing my MRI.
On the appointed day, The Charming and Delightful asks me if I know where I'm going. Sure 'nuff, I reply, I go straight to registration and tell them I've pre-registered over the phone. And that is exactly what I do.
Can I help you, asks the helpful registration desk attendant? Yuppers, say I, I am here for an MRI, and I am pre-registered. Name, asks the helpful registration desk attendant. He rifles through the set of files in a bin on his desk. Hmm, he says, what was that name again? H-A-N-S-E-N. He types it into the computer. Hmm, he says again. Who was your doctor? While he types the doctor's name into his computer, it dawns on me. While I may in fact be pre-registered, I am not pre-registered here, because I am at the wrong hospital! Sheepishly, I admit this fact to the helpful registration desk attendant and slink away.
So much for being on time...
You want to know one of the reasons health care is so costly in the US? Because every hospital in America is trying to double in size, so they're always under construction. I felt like a lab rat running a maze trying to find my way to the entrance to the correct hospital. Nothing was quite like I remembered, I could see where I wanted to be but couldn't find a road open to - wait! - there's the entrance to the parking deck! Sheesh, what a pain!
This time the helpful registration desk attendant pulls my paperwork out just like magic - thank you pre-registration! - and I'm given directions to the MRI Department: up the ramp, down the hall to the elevators, down to G, turn right and go the end of the hall. Easy enough in theory, but ai yi yi!, in practice...
The first hallway had to be fourteen miles long. It's the only hallway in the world with a concession stand. You have to stop and get a snack to keep your strength up to finish the trek. Some people didn't make it. Their skeletons are propped against wall like totems from a Indiana Jones movie. The hallway is so long, the doors at the end look like they're only a foot tall. I walked a long, long time. Luckily, someone had put sticky notes on the skeletons that said 'MRI', so I knew I was on the right trail. Finally, I came to the elevator, went down a floor, and emerged into another hallway. It wasn't quite as long as the first hallway, but I wouldn't have been surprised to have come out under the Gateway Arch. I was no longer on time.
The MRI complex has a big waiting room with the obligatory hospital/doctor's office reception area behind the glass wall. Only this one has a sign that says the receptionist isn't here, and to please call 588-2300. My guess is that the receptionist went out for lunch two days ago, and hasn't made it to the end of the hallway yet. Nevertheless, I pick up the phone and dial, and sure enough, a cheerful voice on the other end says they will be right out to get me.
And so they did, and I was escorted into a small room for MRI prep. MRI prep consists of a list of very odd questions about circumstances where odd bits of metal could be implanted into my body: plates in my head, shrapnel in my chest, piercings of all varieties, pins in any joints, overdoses of iron supplements. Apparently, the magnetic force of an MRI would suck the metal right out of you, making a large mess in the MRI machine, reams of paperwork for the technician to fill out, and general discomfort to you. Which we want to avoid at all costs.
In the process of emptying my pockets and removing my belt, I am reminded that I'm wearing big boy shorts. Big boy pants are the ones that are just big enough in the waist that if I take off my belt, they try and dive for the floor. Fun for the family, but potentially embarrassing in public. Not to mention traumatic for the technician. So I follow the tech into the MRI room while trying to casually hold up my shorts.
An MRI machine looks like a 6 foot tall vanilla frosted donut. Or maybe the world's largest canolli. The trick to a good MRI, I'm told, is to lie motionless. Strike one, thinks Mr ADHD.
They wedge my knee into this brace-like thingy, and then slide me halfway into the giant canolli. Are you claustrophobic, I am asked. Strike two, thinks Mr Hates-Tight-Spaces. I'm told some people take a nap - just don't move for the next 30 minutes or so. Naps are good, so I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
And I dream I'm trapped inside a jackhammer! Oh wait, it's not a dream, because taking pictures using magnets cannot happen at lower than 130 decibels. Oh. My. Gosh! They gave me a pair of foam earplugs, but they work about as well as an umbrella in a hurricane. I don't just hear the clacking, I feel it. I don't move for thirty minutes, but my eyes are open wide as plates. And just like that, back comes the technician, playing a cruel practical joke. He doesn't speak, he just mouths the words. My answer to every question is What? I keep looking around, as though my hearing is over hiding in a corner, and if I can just find it.
Numbly, I stagger back into the prep area and retrieve the contents of my pockets and put my belt back on. No more danger of an early moon rise.
I hardly even notice the two day hike back to the parking garage. I definitely don't notice the elevators, and keep wandering hallways until a hospital employee takes pity on me and points me in the right direction. I've never been happier to see my truck! Now if I could just find my hearing...
When I get home and stagger through the door, The Charming and Delightful asks how it went. All I can say for the next three hours is What?
You may recall from our last episode that while on vacation, I tore the meniscus in my left knee. I don't know exactly what a meniscus is, but I can tell you if you tear it, it will hurt like crazy. And to tear it going off the high dive? Bad karma, man.
But then, the bad karma may be justified. After all, didn't I instigate the near demise of the high dive during the hottest vacation anyone can remember? That was the summer everyone was in the water, and we created a high dive game called left-middle-right. We'd que up and rapid fire jump off the high dive - one to the left, one down the middle, one to the right. By the time you got to the 4th person for the left again, the first person was out of the way. Boing, boing, boing, bloosh bloosh bloosh. Well, I reasoned we could maximize our fun by seeing how boings and blooshes in a row we could get. So I rallied the troops, and off we went to 'set the record'. The good news was we got 21 in a row. The bad news was we nearly capsized the swim raft in the process because we had so many people up on the high dive platform, and nearly gave the owner of the resort a heart attack when she saw what was about to happen. Now there's a limit of 6 people on the high dive platform. So maybe the high dive remembered I almost got it killed, and extracted its revenge.
Or perhaps I should stop ascribing human qualities to inanimate objects and get on with the story...
Regardless of how or why it happened, I now find myself on the wrong side of the doctor-patient relationship with my wife's Orthopaedist. He used to be her doc, but now he's OUR doc. Yeesh.
And, OUR doc won't make a final diagnosis or discuss options without an MRI. Thus, immediately after the perfuntory office visit, I receive the scheduled appointment for my very own, first-of-my-life MRI.
For the entire week before the MRI, I attempt to be a model patient. You know, like studying for a blood test. I refrain from mowing my grass or other necessary landscaping chores. I try not to walk any more than I have to. I ice my knee regularly, all in hopes of passing my MRI.
On the appointed day, The Charming and Delightful asks me if I know where I'm going. Sure 'nuff, I reply, I go straight to registration and tell them I've pre-registered over the phone. And that is exactly what I do.
Can I help you, asks the helpful registration desk attendant? Yuppers, say I, I am here for an MRI, and I am pre-registered. Name, asks the helpful registration desk attendant. He rifles through the set of files in a bin on his desk. Hmm, he says, what was that name again? H-A-N-S-E-N. He types it into the computer. Hmm, he says again. Who was your doctor? While he types the doctor's name into his computer, it dawns on me. While I may in fact be pre-registered, I am not pre-registered here, because I am at the wrong hospital! Sheepishly, I admit this fact to the helpful registration desk attendant and slink away.
So much for being on time...
You want to know one of the reasons health care is so costly in the US? Because every hospital in America is trying to double in size, so they're always under construction. I felt like a lab rat running a maze trying to find my way to the entrance to the correct hospital. Nothing was quite like I remembered, I could see where I wanted to be but couldn't find a road open to - wait! - there's the entrance to the parking deck! Sheesh, what a pain!
This time the helpful registration desk attendant pulls my paperwork out just like magic - thank you pre-registration! - and I'm given directions to the MRI Department: up the ramp, down the hall to the elevators, down to G, turn right and go the end of the hall. Easy enough in theory, but ai yi yi!, in practice...
The first hallway had to be fourteen miles long. It's the only hallway in the world with a concession stand. You have to stop and get a snack to keep your strength up to finish the trek. Some people didn't make it. Their skeletons are propped against wall like totems from a Indiana Jones movie. The hallway is so long, the doors at the end look like they're only a foot tall. I walked a long, long time. Luckily, someone had put sticky notes on the skeletons that said 'MRI', so I knew I was on the right trail. Finally, I came to the elevator, went down a floor, and emerged into another hallway. It wasn't quite as long as the first hallway, but I wouldn't have been surprised to have come out under the Gateway Arch. I was no longer on time.
The MRI complex has a big waiting room with the obligatory hospital/doctor's office reception area behind the glass wall. Only this one has a sign that says the receptionist isn't here, and to please call 588-2300. My guess is that the receptionist went out for lunch two days ago, and hasn't made it to the end of the hallway yet. Nevertheless, I pick up the phone and dial, and sure enough, a cheerful voice on the other end says they will be right out to get me.
And so they did, and I was escorted into a small room for MRI prep. MRI prep consists of a list of very odd questions about circumstances where odd bits of metal could be implanted into my body: plates in my head, shrapnel in my chest, piercings of all varieties, pins in any joints, overdoses of iron supplements. Apparently, the magnetic force of an MRI would suck the metal right out of you, making a large mess in the MRI machine, reams of paperwork for the technician to fill out, and general discomfort to you. Which we want to avoid at all costs.
In the process of emptying my pockets and removing my belt, I am reminded that I'm wearing big boy shorts. Big boy pants are the ones that are just big enough in the waist that if I take off my belt, they try and dive for the floor. Fun for the family, but potentially embarrassing in public. Not to mention traumatic for the technician. So I follow the tech into the MRI room while trying to casually hold up my shorts.
An MRI machine looks like a 6 foot tall vanilla frosted donut. Or maybe the world's largest canolli. The trick to a good MRI, I'm told, is to lie motionless. Strike one, thinks Mr ADHD.
They wedge my knee into this brace-like thingy, and then slide me halfway into the giant canolli. Are you claustrophobic, I am asked. Strike two, thinks Mr Hates-Tight-Spaces. I'm told some people take a nap - just don't move for the next 30 minutes or so. Naps are good, so I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
And I dream I'm trapped inside a jackhammer! Oh wait, it's not a dream, because taking pictures using magnets cannot happen at lower than 130 decibels. Oh. My. Gosh! They gave me a pair of foam earplugs, but they work about as well as an umbrella in a hurricane. I don't just hear the clacking, I feel it. I don't move for thirty minutes, but my eyes are open wide as plates. And just like that, back comes the technician, playing a cruel practical joke. He doesn't speak, he just mouths the words. My answer to every question is What? I keep looking around, as though my hearing is over hiding in a corner, and if I can just find it.
Numbly, I stagger back into the prep area and retrieve the contents of my pockets and put my belt back on. No more danger of an early moon rise.
I hardly even notice the two day hike back to the parking garage. I definitely don't notice the elevators, and keep wandering hallways until a hospital employee takes pity on me and points me in the right direction. I've never been happier to see my truck! Now if I could just find my hearing...
When I get home and stagger through the door, The Charming and Delightful asks how it went. All I can say for the next three hours is What?
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