I'm now in the whole system of having regular doctor visits. I didn't go to the doctor literally for yeaaaars. Like if I needed a physical for a job, something like that, I would go. Otherwise, I avoided the whole thing and, consequently wasted away to the near lifeless form you see today.But then, with deteriorating faculties and the onset of McCainness (meaning seriously advancing age and mental decrepitude), I decided maybe, perhaps death was a worse alternative to going to the doctor. So I eased into the system, and now I'm up to regular shots, a prescription, and scheduled visits every three months.
Today I had to have two separate needle events, blood drawn and a shot. This is historically up there on the list of stressors for me, along with waterboarding and listening to Republicans give speeches. I'm one who tries to avoid all incidences of unpleasantness -- whether it's being stabbed, poisoned, or subjected to the Animal Planet channel.
But now I've gotten almost to the point where I can go in and do it in a fairly fearless way. It's happened enough for me to realize by now that it's never quite as bad as my imagination says it should be. Last time, three months ago, I was looking at it from an alternate psychological point of view -- which I know will sound weird -- as some sort of shadow compensation, necessary pain for balance, to give the devil his due, as it were. But then it turned out the pain didn't seem enough for an enterprise that serious. The self-abusers are actually right on this: If that's what's going on with you it needs to be more painful and more sustained.
In the meantime, since three months ago, I've lost that whole emphasis. So today I went in with nothing. I'm just there like a big kid who suddenly realizes this is going to hurt, so now what do I do to contextualize it? I didn't have anything to eat last night except cake, nothing to eat in the morning, so I was slightly queasy. And it didn't help that the woman ahead of me in the shot chair was taking extra long. So I kept hearing whatever it was she was talking about, of her problems with ambulances, calling 911, and her husband's illness. It's a small hallway and I felt suddenly faint.
But I can't say to the shot lady that I feel faint. She's heard that before. And she'll know that I'm a wuss, or will suspect it. So I'm thinking... 'it never hurts as much as you think it will.' And sure enough, I get to the chair, I turn away, the deed is done, and I'm holding the little cotton piece in place.
Next is the doctor visit -- which doesn't amount to much. Except it involves a prostate check, which is never pleasant. But then he thinks I need a tetanus shot! Oh no! So I calmly say, "OK."
Of course it takes the nurse an extra long time to show up, giving me plenty of time to imagine faintness paying its next visit. I'm up on the table, no arms to hold on to. I could just leave but they'd track me down. There's no escape but to sit here and let her do it.
Conclusion: She shows up, asks me if I'm right or left handed, meaning this is going to hurt. I get the shot. Indeed, it isn't as bad as imagination says it has to be. Only now I have that gnawing, low level, radiating pain in that place, which isn't so bad. It might be worse tomorrow; at least that's what I hear. I haven't had a tetanus shot since 2001, so I don't remember.
