I’m here online ordering a Dior johnny coat, since they’re becoming my norm. I question their expense when you consider they’re totally open in the back…but you know how pricy labels are. Wonder if Tom Ford makes one.
Yes, of course I’m kidding. A johnny coat indeed. Why don’t I just wear a hair shirt with my monogram stitched across it in blood.
Now I know how a lab rat feels…used, stressed and under appreciated. I’m still in the throes of an endless round of tests, the latest being what is called a gallium scan where they check for inflammation.
I’m inflamed alright, right down to my socks.
It all began with cramps in my feet leading me to a neurologist who has become my Dr. Frankenstein. Her fascination with me, under normal circumstances, would be flattering, but I have to say, it’s getting a little out of hand.
First of all, one should never say to a neurotic, jittery girl of 60 even if you are a neurologist, that you’ve never quite seen anything like her brain before, then adding, it’s just loaded with what shouldn’t be there. You mean like sarcasm, fury and disbelief?
“Um, so Doc, could you be a little bit more vague ya think?”
If you’ve ever looked at an MRI it’s like a map of Delaware. There’s your head, your brain, fries on the side. The purpose of her showing me has yet to show its inflamed head, if you know what I mean.
She’s young and excited, tactless and blunt trying to make her mark in medicine.
Of all the gin joints and hospitals in the world you have to walk into mine, if I can sickly steal and rewrite a line from Casablanca.
My latest humiliation is going for an injection that needs to sit for 48 hours before they can give me the scan.
It’s radio active, so I have visions of being lit up like a firefly as I walk down the street. Better bring a raincoat just in case.
I must say, I’m taking all this pushing and prodding pretty well considering I’d like to kill this doctor and stuff her in a bag. How lucky she is I hail from Connecticut where that is just not done.
In the meantime, I get up every day in my steroid haze, yes I’m still on them, proceeding like the real trooper I’ve become.
My epitaph, I’ve decided, will read.
Susannah ‘Thingirl’ Bianchi
She Did Her Best
Pissed Off But Laughing All The Way…SORT OF