Fun With Barium

As long as you start the day off right, it should be good, right? Well, I got to sleep in a little bit today because I had a doctor’s appointment. Acid Reflux Disease check-up (aka, "trying to find out why Uncle Clay is a belching machine). Everything going fine. Light rain, but no traffic delays. Get to the office (actually found it this time). So far, so good.

Well, that’s it. The rest become an experiment in terror. Now the lady can’t find my appointment. Turns out I was in the wrong office (needed to go to a radiology lab or something). Ok, where’s that. Luckily only 300 yards away, otherwise I’d have ended up lost. Ok, not too bad of a setback some I’m still in a good mood. Now I’m in that office and they have me scheduled. Great.

So this old woman takes me to a little room to get my bio and insurance info. She’s sitting in front of a computer and is asking me questions. She is typing in the answers and codes into these screens as we talk. In about 2 minutes it becomes apparent to me that her hands, if not entire body, are possessed by the devil. There is no way a human can type that fast, through all those screens, while talking, listening and keeping a straight face. Basically, there should have been fire coming off the keyboard.

And now it’s time for something they like to call, "Fun with dressing rooms!" So they lead me back to this "Dressing Room" to change. Frankly I thought I was just fine the way I was. The room is easily every bit as large as a normal ashtray. In order to get my pants off, I had to press myself against the walls, get the legs stuck on a latch, and jump up. You try getting jeans off with being able to bend. I think I bumped my head several times.

But not enough apparently, because being conscious only meant I had to endure more pain. For the next "Clotheshorse Challenge" let me present, "The Three-holed Gown." There is no way this could have been a good idea. Frankly I’m surprised there haven’t been public misconduct lawsuits filed over the improper use of such clothing. Especially after I saw a magazine on the ‘seat’ (ie, a small plastic defect I was supposed to get my ass onto – I don’t think so). What the hell kind of place was I in anyway?!

Next we get the ‘sensory test’. This is a quick test wherein you learn that the lab was obviously built directly on top of an ice rink. Whew, my feet are freezing. Back in the closet. So now I’ve got my 3holed gown on, with not-so-matching brown socks and shoes. Ladies, step back, because Mr Smooth is coming through. I’m telling you the laughing started as soon as I left the phone booth to go to the ‘torture chamber’.

"Oh, the shoes definitely make the outfit. And those socks." But now I’m whisked into another room. "Ok, so step up on the platform."

"Where?"

"The platform". She’s point at some little step, about 3 inches wide, in between a big metal thing and another metal thing. And I’m thinking, "I need to go on a diet if she thinks I’m getting in there." But I manage. So now she explains the whole thing to me in overview form.

First, drink some stuff, take some pictures. Take some stuff to make air, take some pictures. Drink some different stuff, take some pictures. Real easy, real quick. Any questions? No, sounds easy enough. This is exactly why I could never be a salesman. Because I could never look a person straight in the face and say, "sure, everything will be fine", when the realistic version was, "oh man, this is going to hurt. Hell, you’ll probably die. Either way, I’ll get rich off the insurance and probably end up sleeping with your wife. Thanks for stopping by!"

So now the doctor comes in and reviews the procedure again. Why is the platform moving? And what is ‘that’ shit? I’m sorry sir, that doesn’t look like it’s supposed to go in my mouth, that looks like it just came out of someone’s mouth. But he’s not hearing me. He tells me in fact this stuff doesn’t taste that good, kinda like antacids. Really? "Well, I take a lot of antacids and actually like Pepto." "Oh, you’ll need the Pepto later."

WTF?

Now I’m swallowing this crap and watching it go down my throat. Ok, not too bad. The first time. Starting to not feel good after the fourth time. That’s ok, done for now. Good. Now the big thing behind me is moving and WTF?! I’m apparently on a rotating bed. Very odd. So now I’m laying down. And here’s where the Yoga portion of today’s check-up comes in.

Ok, turn this way, but keep that arm above your head, hip up, leg down, twist, and turn….

"So, this must be what it’s like to be a model!"

By now the nurse is laughing and actually feels sorry for me. "Ok, so I’m just going to have to man-handle you to get this right." Normally I like an aggressive woman, but right now my gut is going to explode so I’m not in the mood.

Drinking more crap. Oh, and it is crap. They probably found this shit in the gutter and put it in a vego-matic with some Tums. Drink some stuff, take a picture. Breathe. Hold Breath. Stop breathing. Breath. Turn. Twist. Ok, otherway. Why am I dizzy? Meanwhile I keep having to tell her, "I’m sorry but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t go in there quite like that."

"Oh, you’re right. My fault."

Ugh.

Ok, that part’s done. Whew. Now it gets worse. Oh yeah. Sit up and here, this is a little something to through in the back of your throat. Chase that with this water, then chug some more of this cow vomit. First, the throat stuff looks like baking soda. The water to chase is only about a teaspoon full. The baking soda stuff will react with the water to make air and expand my insides. This will also cause me to want to burp but I am supposed to hold in the burp until all the pictures are taken. "That’s not going to be easy." "Just try."

By the time I had put the empty water cup down the belch had escaped my throat, completely without my knowledge, and I had plastered this poor woman’s face to the back wall. But now I’m chugging curdled milk now and can’t concentrate on her. "Ok, now I need you to lie down and roll over on the table so we can get that all around your insides."

Have you seen the Exorcist lady? Because that’s what’s getting ready to happen here. I manage to do this, but it’s taking everything I have to keep from burping or puking at this point. More pictures. And now I’m drinking even more stuff and taking pictures. Looking at the screen I don’t even know that the hell those parts are or where all those quarters came from. All I know is if she tries to put one more thing in my throat, I’m gonna hurl.

She needs to do one over and yet another. I can’t. And I tell her such. "Oh, but you can burp now." Dear Lord, why didn’t she tell me BURRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPP that earlier. BUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP. This goes on for several minutes. Now she’s guessing I’m single and telling me not to BUUUUUURRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPP on dates. I gotta hand it to her though, she stood right there, didn’t complain and didn’t go deaf.

We finish and I just sit there for a few minutes. Now I’m back on display. Again with the laughing. "Well ladies, I’m going to be belching for a few hours straight, I got this cool gown on and my non-matching shoes and socks, and now they tell me I’m probably going to be constipated for awhile. Ok, who wants some?!" More laughter of course.

Back in the closet. Where I should’ve stayed in the first place. I manage to get my clothes on. Perhaps backwards, I really don’t care at this point. And I’m out the door. And yes, I grabbed one of the Blo-pops, looked the receptionist in the eye and said, "Oh yes, I *earned* this one", and walked out.

Have a great weekeUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!