Lost Modesty and More Fun at the Lab

THE ADVENTURES OF MR. MODESTY

I seriously doubt that many of you know I was voted Most Likely To Be Modest at Louis Pasteur Jr. High (Home of the Passionate Pasteurizers) back about, oh, I dunno, 1964 or so. I don't think I even told my parents, that was how modest I was. I did have one serious transgression when my old college buddy Ted Gifford convinced me to accompany him to the local nude beach down by Montecito. After crossing a busy road, two sets of railroad tracks and jumping a small fence we were there. I recall being somewhat bored until I spotted one of my professors. His lectures never seemed the same after that.

It was soon thereafter that I changed my major from Mechanical Engineering to Art/Painting. This was partially motivated by my wish to continue to view undressed individuals, of many walks of life and of one of several genders available. There were a dizzying variety of shapes, sizes and age groups as well. This eliminated my need to patronize seedy establishments (like Little Annie Fannie's over on Hollister) to satisfy my unfortunate, immature and completely justified interest in, well, skin, I suppose.

Fast forward several decades to my last six years or so of hospital visits. Slowly but surely through one difficult situation after another the modesty factor has been pretty well eliminated. Everyone in a hospital is entitled by Federal Law to see any or all of your goodies anytime they feel like it. This includes every doctor, nurse, aide, maintenance guy and parking attendant who wants a peek. While in surgical la-la land, under the spell of powerful flak juice, I of course don't know enough to care. However now, whether or not I am mentally present or not. I really don't give a rat's ass who is looking. This occasionally freaks Cheryl out when I forget to pull the curtain or expose my tuchas out the 10Th floor window.

"Yeah, so what?" you are saying. I post this valuable info to anyone who may have to spend excessive time in hospitals, particularly prospective transplant recipients who are undoubtedly not told this by the professional transplant experts. It definitely should not be construed as a deal-breaker (there are plenty of worse features in the transplant experience) but forewarned is forearmed. Or something like that. You are most welcome.

A RECURRING HORRIBLE NIGHTMARE

I keep having this awful dream, at least once a week. I drive over to Quest Diagnostics (aka The Fenton Street Funhouse) for my weekly labs, plus anything new dreamed up by the fine folks at UCSF. I enter, place my (full) name on the arrival list (hey, where are those privacy policies?) and quietly sit down with my book/magazine. I am called to the dais and find the usual phlebotomist searching a stack of papers for my standing order. Suddenly the scene goes all wankey and the poor lady gets this wild deer-in-the -headlights look as the mess of papers fails to yield my weekly labs, which I have done every Monday since about April or so. I mention this fact and suddenly eyebrows are raised and whispering conversations between staff members ensues, I am certain involving unkind references to "that weird dude with the face mask", i.e. yours truly.

I am ordered to retake my seat. I am then summoned to the blood draw room and asked to sign a permission document. Leeches are attached and my precious bodily fluid is drained from me. I am taped up and bid a fond (NOT) farewell.

Then it hits me like a cold slap upside the head with a dead mackerel....THIS IS NOT A DREAM! No, it is painfully real, and I stagger to my car in a trance of some sort. I of course recover quickly from this trance (I would never drive under the influence of a trance, spell, or exorcism) and successfully make my way back home to my anxiously anticipated brekkie of, yes, French toast. To all prospective transplant candidates, try to avoid this organization. UCSF evidently has a Devil's Pact with these morons, so that is easier said than done. I must in all fairness report that I had to return a few moments ago to complete an additional, time-sensitive order that was done quickly and professionally. Well OK then, there you have it.

JUST IN FROM THE LATE-BREAKING NOOZ NOOZROOM

Just moments ago we were summoned to attend a heart biopsy (mine!) scheduled for 7:30 am tomorrow morning at the wonderful cath lab. Somehow, this had never been communicated to us previously. But off we will go, rising before the (butt) crack of dawn and lacking any form of nourishment starting tonight at 12:00 am. Yes, many of you will gasp "NPO" and you would be 100% correct. We will be mere passengers on the cath lab roller coaster, crashing and banging against the many surprises that are part of the unique nature of the schedule. There could be bumping (hey, just like Indy qualifying!) for sicker patients, computer issues, or it might just be lunch time for the doc so tough s**t, sucker. Read a book or listen to your stoopid music on your iPod. But really, the cath lab staff is wonderful, and I have been a frequent patron for some time now. They do the best they can, to be sure.

We will scare up a bit o' dinner now and quickly jam, pill and jump into the sack for an abbreviated rest. Then it is off in the commute traffic, once again to Puzzle Palace. And more of the same Thursday for a coupla clinic visits and the infamous Cytogam infusion. Return trip on Thursday should be memorable, as it always is. All part of Transplant World, and well worth it.

Bob/Irv