It all began two weeks ago when my left ear started to buzz like a bee set up house in it. Then my hearing lessened making everything sound as if I was snorkeling.
230 dollars later, my very competent ears, nose and throat man said, he could see nothing causing these things therefore, I needed an MRI.
I do, really?
The last time I was sent for an MRI, by him coincidentally, I became somewhat of a legend at the facility. For those of you who don’t know, it’s an X-ray machine in the shape of a coffin they lock you up in for 45 minutes or more. It’s practice, I suppose, if you’re ever buried alive.
My friend Ed says, they’re more like a womb, but I say, one man’s womb is another man’s coffin. Actually my friend Bill said that and I liked it.
With my claustrophobia in full bloom, a bullet to the chest would have been preferable. Moments after entry I started to scream, Get me outta here, NOW. Luckily the guy who shoveled me in like a giant loaf of Wonder Bread was still in the room. I jumped out, threw on all my clothes (so I thought) and ran home.
My doctor called to see if I was alright. Seems the MRI people were concerned because I left my socks and undies behind, no pun intended. That means they found my thong…oops. Well, it’s so little you could certainly understand how one could forget it.
My doctor said, this time I could have an open MRI, which means you’re not closed in. As the man who made my appointment said, you’re kinda like a sandwich. I decided that would make me a ham on rye.
Good old Ed said he’d drive me since it’s at a hospital in The Bronx. Open machines, come to find out, are hard to locate, but I’m going all the way there since I’ll do anything to avoid that tube. This buzzing along with having to say, WHAT all the time is getting to me.
Need to find out why I’ve turned into Granny Clampett overnight.
Another friend, who shall remain nameless so he’s not accused of drug dealing, is slipping me Valium so while it’s happening I’ll be at The Carlyle in the sky.
The doctor said, in the interim, I should try to relax. I promised I would but reminded him how I live in New York. “I do too,” he said. “Yeah, but you’re a doctor overcharging everybody so you’re more relaxed naturally.” Wonder why he didn’t laugh at that.
How to relax, hmm…that’s a toughie. It gave me the perfect excuse though to shut off my phones but due to work related issues, like getting hired? I had to put them back on. I tried watching The Sound of Music figuring the Alps, Julie Andrews and all that singing would do the trick, but I forgot about those nuns. Then it hit me, a massage, I’ll go have a massage, that should do the trick.
I called this place a model recommended who gave me an appointment right away. None of this, we can see you in 2 weeks business. She warned me though. no frills. She said, “It’s nothing like going to Bliss where you get brownies and champagne.” Of course this joint was 60 bucks an hour not 180.
Well, if you don’t mind feeling like you’re in Cambodia around 1972 it’s okay. No frills? I was amazed it had walls. It was a line of tiny rooms separated by flimsy curtains. I thought for a second it could be a peep show until Daniel san came out in his Gandhi robe. “Wilcome,” he said bowing…”you new.” (If I knew I wouldn’t be here, trust me.)
“Yes, I am…first time here.”
“Ah, you like. I know.”
I wasn’t so sure, but my Connecticut had kicked in so to leave would have been terribly impolite. He led me to my own little cubby to stash my things after handing me a paper robe. Of course the first thing I did was make a huge hole in it so now I’m topless and have to wear my cardigan in the hallway.
“You cold?” asked Daniel San.
“Yes, yes I am.” I wasn’t lying. Besides, he didn’t need to know that my boobs were now vulnerable and paperless. Why didn’t I ask for a new one? Because the chances of me doing it again were quite good.
“Go in, take off sweater…lie on stomach,” he instructed. “Mr. Chen will come soon.”
Will he. You don’t say. So he was just the host bringing me to my table so to speak. Mr. Chen, who’s quite short wearing blue surgeon’s scrubs, comes in to see if I was set to go.
“Yes, Mr. Chen,” I believe I am.
“Any back pain?” I am so sorry I didn’t say yes, it’s been broken in 10 places.
For the next hour I was pummeled and pushed, rubbed and sat upon. Yes, Mr. Chen sat on my back as if I were a park bench. When it was over I could hardly walk. My shoulders were so free of knots I thought my head was swiveling. Honestly, it felt like you could screw it right off, like a cookie jar.
“You go straight home… sleep,” Mr. Chen said as I limped to my locker. My dress now looked as if moths got at it. One could also say my modesty went right out the window. Everything I owned was popping out like a jack-in-the-box, if you know what I mean.
I felt delusional. How dare they take out all those knots. They could have at least left a couple to see me home.
“Ah, you look re-loxed,” said Daniel San. “I give coupon for next time.”
Next time? I don’t know. I just might be the type that needs a few frills…at least one, like a cotton robe with extra strength buttons.
I did take Mr. Chen’s advice and go right to sleep. I don’t think he meant in the cab, but the driver was nice to wake me when we got to my door. I mean, let’s face it, he could have left the meter running while I napped. This is New York, not the Emerald City.
I crawled upstairs barely getting my clothes off and slept for 12 hours.
Am I reloxed? No, stressed as all hell since I had so much to do today. Who had time to sleep that long.
Sometimes a girl just needs a little stress to keep her head on her shoulders.