But You Can't Pick Your Friends Nose...

"Isn't a bit unnerving that doctors call what they do 'Practice'?" 

-George Carlin

Yeah, just a tad...

This might seem a bit redundant but here's another doctor story for ya. So, I'm sorry if you think you stumbled upon some 80-year-old blogging grandma that only blogs about her aches and pains and how her grandchildren are better then your's, it's just that so many funny things happen when I go to the doctor. It brings me some sort of sick joy... after the fact. Remember how I mentioned a gap in my childhood? No, not the one about never seeing Disney's Cinderella until I was 17. The one about my inability to swallow. Yes! That one! Well, still no cure. So that equals another test! Which constitutes shoving a tube down my nose and into my stomach. Really people? Isn't there and easier way? To which the evil doctor answers, "Mwahahaha, yes but THIS, this way brings me some sort of sick joy (maybe I should change my major) so we do it my way! Mwahahahah!" 

BUT...

Of course nothing can go normal for me when I go to the doctors, it's just physically impossible. Blood pressure... simple enough procedure. I can do it myself and I'm not even a nurse. Ummm, I'm pretty sure the cuff is suppose to be tight but I'm also pretty sure I should be able to feel my fingers. Just an observation. To which the tech responds, "This has never happened before." What a shocker! It took a good ten minutes and many cuff burns to find out that my veins were pumping just fine. Just don't show em' a needle and no one gets hurt. Except, I almost wish there had been a needle involved but no, dear readers, I was awake the whole time. 

But my nose was numb. You know how hard it is to breath and to keep your bogies  in check? Almost up there with Stats... almost. So once my nose is on longer under my control, they stuck the tube in. I know there must be a hole in your nose or you wouldn't be able to breath, but come on people have any of you found your's? I know ALL of you have picked your nose at sometime, there's no denying it. So this mysterious hole.  They found it, but then they couldn't find my throat. Remember that song, "The hip bone's connected to the thigh bone. The thigh bone's connected to the knee cap." Yeah that one. Apparently, these people never learned the verse that went, "The nose cavity it connected to the throat." Or maybe it never clicked. Or maybe that's way I can't swallow... I have no throat! That would cause some problems. Just minor... no big deal problems. 

No worries, the medical people (I really don't know if they were nurses or techs) did what they always do, call in reinforcements. So the specialist came in and guess what? He use to live in my ward. It's one thing to have a complete stranger stick something up your nose, but someone you know? It's a little strange. You know that phrase 'you can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friends nose..." 

I guess getting it into the nose is the hard part and after that it's easy... except when you are a medical mystery. Well, the man from my past solved the problem and the tube was well on it's way to my stomach. Then I had to sit there for ten minutes while the tube warmed up to my body's temperature. When you have a tube sticking out your nose, you learn some pretty interesting stuff. Life when you breath, your nose twitches. When you swallow, your nose twitches. When you laugh (cause going to the doctor always makes me free thinking and free speaking, which causes me to laugh. Someone's got to laugh at my jokes), your nose twitches. And Twitching causes the tube to move up and down. Oh, the comments I would have made if I had been a teenage boy... oh, wait, I did make them. I think this immaturity comes from the fact my voice still cracks. Yes, I made comments about bogies and elephants... the whole package. Oh, Danielle...

Then the fun part... pulling the tube back up. This includes having one nurse counting backwards the centimeters as it comes back up my nose. You too can go to nursing school and learn how to count backwards. (Don't worry, I'm not bashing nurses. This comment came from one of their own, and it was funny so I swiped it.) I  could only swallow when they told me I could. You know how hard it is NOT to swallow when you are told you can't? It's like being told don't think of purple elephants. What do you think of? Purple elephants. Don't swallow... dang... I just did. Well, eventually the whole tube came out and it was all done. With only four swallows and one laugh attack marked on my record. It was rewarded with the best PB&J sandwich I've ever had in my life. It's amazing what tastes good after hours of not eating. 

This should be my last aches and pains complaint... but no promises. Anything funny is free game.

Rolling Veins…A Good Name for a Band

Veins Collapsed, Puncture Wound, and Bruised Arm are good too.

          I also thought about adding Popped IV too, but that was just stretching it. I cannot in good conscience take complete credit for the name Rolling Veins, that was my sister’s idea. Did you think I was going to give credit to Rolling Stones? Pff… you were wrong. My sister is kind of a medical novelty in the fact that every time (and I mean EVERY time) she goes to the doctor she hears at least once, “I’ve never seen this before!” Yeah, that really builds your confidence in the medical professionals. They could really write a whole medical journal on her strange medical behaviors. Besides the fact that we have the same parents and lived in the same house together for 13 years, we have something else in common, our veins. It seems that both of our veins stopped growing about five years before the rest of us did. And they also move. Hence the rolling veins. I cannot tell you how many times I have gotten my blood drawn and the phlebotomist (yeah, I have to look up how to spell that) missed my vein, because my vein was just feeling so trapped and just need a change of scenery. So, it went on a temporary vacation. Veins do not use airplanes or even trains. (vein train… that’s funny!) They are very independent and roll where ever they go.

             Anyways, why all this background info? Because these medical mysteries came into play this week, once again. I had recently gone to get a basic physical, because I will be spending the next 18 months in a place that uses squat toilets, do you really think I’m gonna want to go to the doctor over there? No. So a basic check up included some blood work. Yeah, as expected they missed on the first arm and had to call in someone else in to find a vein. Then the vein they finally did find collapsed. Really? Every time! Add two more nasty bruises to my battered arm. And a scar! What? Yeah, they totally cut me with one of the needles and I have a nice little scar on the inside of my arm. That’s new. So the bruise barely fades into this yellow color and my mom tells me I have an appointment with some specialist about my swallowing problem. Apparently I never learned how to swallow correctly. Another hole in my childhood education.

            They have to knock you out and then stick this camera thing down your throat to see if they can find the problem. So, I’m lying on the hospital bed thinking how hungry I am (I had not eaten in over 14 hours. Apparently they do not want you throwing up on them, I don’t know why) when the nurse comes in with the IV. Oh, yeah another needle!  You mean you can’t find a big enough vein? Shocker! Oh, you’re gonna try that one? Yeah, that didn’t feel right. So I know that getting a IV is not suppose to be pain free, but that one killed!  And then proceeded to bleed. Now, maybe I am mistaken but I distinctly remember something about IV putting fluid into your body, not taking them out. After some ‘rearranging’ as they say or ‘digging’ as I put it, they declared the IV to be place. I am then wheeled into the procedure room. And then! Guess what! The IV popped, which means stopped working. My vein had once again held a revolution and in protest stopped producing blood. So now I have three nurses working on me to try and get in another IV. Did you get that? Three. Count them… one, two, three. How many nurses does it take to find my vein? Three, plus one doctor, and 15 minutes. The doctor, trying to make a joke, stated, “Where did all your veins go?” I think that is a question for you doctor, not me. That was my last thought, because the next thing I know, I am waking up back in the recovery room and my mom is talking to me. I guess I woke up in a better mood then I went under in, because I woke up chuckling to myself. My mom then explained that my muscle connecting my esophagus and my stomach is smaller than normal. Which I then cracked the joke, “Like my veins?” Laugh, laugh, laugh! Yes, Danielle, your esophagus muscle stopped growing about the same time your veins did. I few minutes lapsed, I think, remember I am still under the influence, when I asked my mom what was wrong with me. I had apparently forgotten all about our early conversation. My mom told me the same information and guess what? I cracked the same joke! I am so funny!  And so uninhibited. Everything that popped into my head popped out my mouth. I wondered, yes out loud, if this is what a couple of beers felt like. Many of you by now are thinking, “Isn’t that they way she always acts?” You would all be amazed at the number of things I filter. Amazed.

            When I got home I took off the bandage and found six different puncture wounds and a swollen and painful bruise. Purple, to match my faded yellow one. I looked like a druggy. Anyone that didn’t know me would think I shot up every day. Don’t worry, I don’t need to do drugs, I can just go to the doctor for that.