A Piece of Meat

When you engage with the medical community here in the United States you get swallowed up in a cold world of indifference.

I had an MRI this morning on my right knee.

I have been having problems this year that I avoided talking about so far lest you respond: "Jesus Christ, Joe - you said you would not whine anymore."

In that spirit I will only divulge certain facts - all will be revealed when I know exactly what the fuck I am dealing with.

Mid-January the knee became problematic - I could not ride the exercise bike, going up and down stairs (especially down) was a major issue - pain-wise and mobility-wise.

I saw the orthopaedic dude a couple of weeks ago - he did what he always does - (I have had pain in that knee for many years). X-rays, cortisone shot.

I told him things are different this time - my knee feels like it is swollen even though it is not - but it is preventing me from doing everyday fucking things. "I'll give you the shot - if it doesn't help I'll schedule an MRI."

So, here I am.

There are certain things you do for health reasons that the medical community deems patient-uncomfortable, so they take a General Patton approach, assuming that if they bark commands at you it will overcome your trepidations.

MRI's are a prime example.

Had to take off my belt, empty my pockets, take off my shoes, take off my glasses, take off my knee wrap, take off my sweatshirt. She barked all these commands at me like I was a fucking piece of meat. No empathy at all.

The MRI lasted 20 minutes.

Afterwards, as I put myself back together, the two attendants talked with each other like I wasn't even there. Totally fucking ignored me. Even though they were 3 feet away.

I had to do errands when I left. Of course. You can never leave the house without doing fucking errands. Buying bottled water, boneless pork spareribs, cold cuts, Corona Light.

Driving to the errands, doing the errands, driving home - I noticed I felt like I was in a dreamworld. There but not really there.

The aftershock of a mind that traveled from reality to the bogus medical world and back to reality again.

It is a stange thing to walk out of "reality" into a situation where you are treated like hanging meat in Rocky I, guided to and situated on an MRI table, inserted into a bizarro MRI machine that makes a lot more noise than it should, left alone with your mind, putting yourself back together, then walking into Market Basket.

The mind can only take so much.

The earliest I will have a read on what's going on is tomorrow. That's because Dr. Feelgood is only in the office on Wednesdays and Fridays. Lazy, shiftless, fuck.

In a related story: I had bloodwork done in January before my last hormone shot. That's the drill. I was waiting outside the lab for the 374 people ahead of me to get their blood sucked when I heard click.......click......click. I knew what it was, but knowing made it no less foreboding.

Eventually a guy came into view and beyond, leaning on his walker. Every time he moved it forward and it hit the ground, it clicked. He was traveling about .000007 miles per hour.

Every time I go to the hospital I get these warning signs signalling what is ahead in my life-deterioration.

I fucking hate it.