The unlonely man

I went for a follow up X-ray this morning but don’t fret, this post has no gory details of innards and such, it’s about the people I saw there. Mainly one of them. G took me, which made it much more fun. We decided to go a bit earlier and have some breakfast at the hospital canteen. I had Eggs Florentine for the first time in my life. It was delicious, other than the fact that the cheese sauce (I thought it was meant to be Hollandaise?) was made from processed cheese. Let me not get into a food review though, I am (again) straying.

I am always struck in hospitals by the invisible fog of emotion. As the electronic doors open, the fresh air from outside rushes in to dilute the flitting-about emotions inside – sadness for sick loved ones, ecstatic happiness for new beings just born, worry for unknown ailings – it swirls and twirls.

We sat at a table on the edge of the canteen, listening to the three ‘older’ ladies two tables away discussing last night’s episode of Survivor, something they obviously do every Tuesday morning, each one religiously sticking up for their favourite animal in the cage contestant.

As we sipped on our café lattes, chatting about all manner of things both of us looked toward the edge of the canteen area as an impeccably dressed man arrived, arranged his filofax and book neatly on a table, folded his jacket neatly on a chair and sat down. He ordered coffee from the waitress and sat with his hands neatly clasped on his lap. She brought the coffee and he ordered some toast and anchovette and ate it, also neatly.

In between his foodly orders he made a few phonecalls (one to the lady he was waiting for, to check he had time for the toast before she arrived, one to somebody (a friend perhaps, or a patient) to see if she was feeling better and had a good night), he received a call (I think from his lover, but that’s just my imagination running away with me) who he told he was waiting for a rep, having some coffee and toast. I sound nosey, don’t I? This was all done loudly, in a coffee shop, at a table near us, so I figure he wasn’t looking for privacy.

This all sounds pretty ordinary doesn’t it? But it wasn’t. You see, throughout all this (between his waitress interactions and phonecalls) he conducted a solid conversation. With himself. Just below hearing level. It was amazing and, as I said to G, what a great way to be! He must never be lonely, having himself as a constant companion, somebody who understands him fully and who he gets along with oh-so-very-well. I guess some people would call him mad.

We should all be so lucky to be that kind of companionable mad, shouldn’t we?

Having my head read

I was going to be so good about writing this year because I know it's good for Me... I started with promising Me that I'd write every day, then she got lazy/distracted by life and bargained it down to every second day. Then I had a bit of a wrangle with Me and got it all the way down to once a week. At least. I think I'm almost getting that in but, really, I know I is right and Me should butt out with her manipulations. If she just sits down and starts writing, she loves it. It's time I and Me get on the same page (preferably this one).*

So, I've had a nasty headache for about the last two weeks that was initially only at night, then progressed to during the day too. I never get headaches (and my mind fretted about causes - tumours, bleeds, aargh! I am slightly over-dramatic, and it doesn't help to be medically-minded and know all about such things) so I saw the doctor, he referred me to a neurosurgeon who made me go for an MRI to have my head read. It was scary.

In the meantime, my sister had her cards read in Joburg and the woman told her the source of my headaches would be found, they would get better, and it could possibly be psychological. I was quite impressed with that thought - if my mind was capable of causing such excrutiating pain, perhaps I have other super powers too.

So off I went for a brain scan. This is not something I would recommend to anyone as a pleasure activity. It is claustrophobic, and loud. But like in really, really loud. They use soothing voices and explain that it's a tight space, they give you earplugs and warn you it's 'quite loud' and they tell you to keep dead still. Then they pat you on the shoulder encouragingly (these displays of touchy-feelyness from complete strangers (although very nice ones) should've alerted me to what was coming).

Then they leave the room, close the door and you move electronically into the gaping (but very small) mouth of this huge machine. I asked how they fit fat people into it when I first saw it. The answer: "We don't". Okay then.

I got such a fright with the first noise, I nearly jumped out of my skin, forgetting the no moving rule. Oops. It sounds like magnets being clicked together, and probably is, considering MRI stands for Magnetic Resonance Imaging. That's bearable. But then extremely loud noises, prolonged, like a tractor, but a tractor in your head, begin. It's the kind of noise that makes you want to scream and run.

What they forget to tell you is that this ordeal goes on and off for 28 hours. Okay, I exagerrate slightly. It's about half an hour. But it feels like 3 months. I tried to establish a beat in it, and pretend I was in some wierd, monotonous rave club but then realised it was making me move my head, so I stopped, and concentrated on just getting through it (which, obviously, I did)

They gave me the disc with the images on it to take to my doctor, but not the report. That makes me cross. It's my brain, why shouldn't I know what comments they have? I, of course, instantly put the disc into my computer at home and looked at my brain. Wierd, my brain was looking at itself. And all my brain could say was: "Hmm, yes, that looks like a brain. It could be me, but fuck knows if there's something wrong with me. How should I know?" Apologies for my brain's profundities. I, apparently, have no control over it.

I duly delivered the disc and waited for the doctor to get hold of me. About 24 hours later Which, again, felt like a week, I was worrying myself silly) he called. I was fearful that he took so long because he was trying to work out the best way to tell me that, actually, I had no brain at all. But, no, I have one, and there is nothing dire wrong with it. Phew.

I am now slowly going through other possible solutions to send the headache packing - increased fluid intake, changed my pillows, am getting a new mattress (it's been 12 years, probably a good thing) etc. It seems to be getting better. I'm still feeling a bit like I've been run over by a bus though. Damnit. And I can't bear whingers. Now I am one.

If these all fail, I will be forced to go with my sister's card reader, and fix my head psychologically... I'm not sure quite how, I thought I was doing just fine, thank you. So, that's my excuse for being bit quiet.

Is it manipulative of me to use a sore head as an excuse, when I've quite happily managed to continue doing everything else in my life, regardless of the pain in my pip?

* I do not actually suffer from clinical Multiple Personality Disorder, it's much milder than that. My angel and devil are just both extremely strong-willed.

A mammogram and an experiment

I went for my routine mammogram this morning. While my parents blessed me with some great genes, the one that isn’t so great is the breast cancer gene. My mother had it in her early forties, I was about 10 years old at the time, and remember my father explaining to us that she was in hospital having an op that would save her life. The stress was palpable, even to a 10 year old. I had no idea then, though, what an awful time she had. Thank god she’s been clear since. My paternal grandmother had it too. Therefore my being very vigilant.

Mammograms, though, are not for the faint-hearted. I don’t, under any circumstances, want to put anyone off, but really, one would think that in this day and age of being able to speak to (and see) someone 14 000 miles away, across an ocean, some time zones, and a couple of weather systems, we would have developed something that allowed us to see our breast tissue without having to pull them as if they’re plasticine (for those of you who don’t know, they’re not!) and flatten them like pancakes between two hard pieces of plastic. For us who are, ahem, not-so-well-endowed, this is an especially trying process.

The funniest thing, though, was the Waiting Room, which was not unlike somebody’s lounge. Admittedly, somebody with fairly poor decorating style, but still – large couches, coffee tables with magazines etc. No YOU magazines though. What kind of doctor’s rooms doesn’t have YOU magazine? Tsk. I digress, the funny thing – there was a large TV sitting very loudly in the corner, set on the movie channel which had reached the end of an epic 9/11 movie and was playing tragic music. Very loudly. In a doctor’s rooms. I am here to tell you that pre-mammogram, tragic music is not ideal.

In other news, I’m conducting an experiment (possibly as a result of too-early waking – my mind wanders at 4:30am). If you were a chocolate cupcake, and could be eaten by anyone in the world, who would it be?