The Gastroenterologist
by
July 10, 2006
As if the hassle of being in a
gulag of a neurology ward for 5 days was not bad enough, it’s apparently time
for a visit with my gastroenterologist.
This is an occasion I avoid assiduously but despite proffering excuses
both imaginative and unanswerable, he’s heard them all by now and refuses to be
placated. The crafty bastard has even
gone so far as to call my physicians here and has become sneakily abreast of my
upcoming schedule. Doesn’t he have a
life?
“I hear that you’ll be in London
next week”, he said on the phone today, causing me to nearly swallow my tongue.
“Your neurologist faxed me your lab results – your white count and alk phos
levels are through the roof – I need to see you. I have an opening late next
Wednesday afternoon.”
I too have an opening, I thought
darkly, and I have no intention of letting him anywhere near it. Really:
the man’s practice was full – what was he? Some kind of fetishist?
What sort of person selects this as a specialty?
“I’m going to be busy…” I began
gamely.
“I’ll see you at 4:30”, he said,
and hung up on me.
Oh God, I’m really not up for
this, especially as I know exactly what to expect. If I were into this sort of thing, I would have joined the navy
or embraced a life of crime. At the
very least, I’d be getting paid top dollar on the prostitution circuit. I certainly wouldn’t be volunteering.
As I cast my mind back queasily
to our last meeting, I quailed at the memory.
There was no chitchat. No small
talk. No dinner. Just right down to business.
OK, he was fairly quick about it
– not normally a quality I applaud in a man.
Under the circumstances, however, endurance is not trait I’m after. It can’t be pleasant for him (at least I
hope it’s not) but it’s going to be much more unpleasant for me because I
refuse sedation – it lowers my seizure threshold and this is the last place I
want to have a seizure. This means I
must will myself to stay perfectly still while someone does a biopsy on me
under rather intimate circumstances with no drugs whatsoever. I’m sure he’s factored in what the
anticoagulant will add to the process but I’m sure the whole thing will be
rendered that little bit more special because of it.
I’m still going to spend the
remaining hours between now and Wednesday afternoon trying to figure out a
plausible way to weasel out of it.
On the bright side, it sure is
good to be back at work, despite the fact that I may have inadvertently left the
impression with a coworker that I’m either lusting after him or should be the
subject of a dangerous offender application.
The problem is chemical. I’m still getting used to the anticonvulsant
(though I’m almost acclimatized now) but for the first little while, I was lost
in space every time I took it. It’s a megablast of topamax and my brain wasn’t
used to it. (I try not to play with the
chemicals in my brain. It generally has
fun all on its own.) The onslaught of
the drug manifested itself by making me babble uncontrollably, rendering me
rather more senseless (and strange) than I normally am.
I spent some time in his company
and while I don’t remember the details of our conversation with any
particularity, I do recall some strange looks.
I also seem to recall him furtively reconnoitering the area, as if he
were checking out convenient exits in case he had to make a run for it.
He is now avoiding me like the
plague.
This is more than a little
embarrassing and there is no way to save the situation. I am simply going to have to resign myself
to being damned as a dangerous oddball, which, come to think about it, isn’t
too different from the reputation I enjoyed prior to being put on this
medication.
I suppose there is only so much I
can blame on the drugs.
Till next time.
Morrigan.
|
