Nurse Betty
Never before had a simple sign had such an impact on me.
Nuclear Medicine
My entire body entered a state which I imagine the onset of riga mortis would feel like if one was not actually mortis when the riga onset.
Surely such a reaction is natural, normal, and completely understandable for a fully paid up card carrying baby boomer. I'm convinced that any boomer with the IQ of pavlova would have exactly the same reaction. To us boomers, 'nuclear' is a word which one expects to see used in phrases with words like war, explosion, holocaust, annihilation, bomb or bowel movement. The Cuban missile crisis, sadly underexposed to the world in pre-CNN days, the Cold War, and eavesdropping on our parents' discussion of 'that lunatic Kruschev' have conditioned we baby boomers to brace ourselves for the following word whenever 'nuclear' is read or heard.
That conditioning most certainly did not prepare this boomer person for 'medicine' after 'nuclear', especially when my body was about to become the war zone.
I respect my Medico mate. He's a great doctor and a very nice man to boot. But he carefully omitted any mention of the 'N' word when he referred me for a test after a kidney stone experience. ('Test' is medical term covering all situations where the doc requires you to submit to all manner of pain and embarrassment with technology involved without asking any questions whatever). When I read that sign it got me thinking. Did I owe the good doctor money? Is there any way possible he could have read my mind at the precise moment I might have been having those kind of thoughts about his wife.Naw! He must have had some sound medical reason for referring me. I went in.
Reception formalities concluded, I was soon lying on a skinny bed in front of a space-aged gizmo with a hole in the middle. Doughnut/lifesaver technology. I chatted nervously with a person I presumed to be nurse who introduced herself by her correct name, presuming the nametag on her tunic was not a fib, but I'll simply refer to her as Nurse Betty to protect the guilty. We quickly go to the hot topic of the day - the All Blacks (New Zealand football team, for non-rugby followers) ordinary effort in a recent Bledisloe Cup match (against Australia for non-rugby followers). I soon learned Nurse Betty is actually Doctor Betty, 'frush from Willingtun' for a study-experience stint in the nuclear medicine unit, and still tragically depressed at that All Black loss.
This information she very effectively conveyed in the process of seventeen attempts to find a plump vein in my petrified forearm by feverishly brandishing a very blunt needle with the finesse of Jack the Ripper on steroids.
Doctor Betty must have arrived late for the 'first explain the procedure, then do the procedure' part of the bedside manner lecture, because she was consistent in doing exactly the reverse. The main concern I had with her approach was being told she was going to inject a radio-active isotope, clearly one which had evaded the growing dirty bomb black market, several minutes after my bits were starting to glow. My abject panic was concealed only by my abject confusion as I moved, bed and all, through the hole in the gizmo, and emerged to see my kidneys live on television.
Doctor Betty then pipes up. "Left kidney blockage. Fluid has as much chance of getting past that as a Wallaby trying to pass an All Black." In light of their recent performance, I took that to indicate that Doctor Betty did not consider my condition all that bad. In the circumstances, discretion seemed a brighter choice than valour, so I did not share my medical conclusion with the good doctor.
Good thing, too. Too soon the optimist, it turns out.
What Doctor Betty lacked in injection administration skills, she made up for in clairvoyant ability. She must have read my mind to be remotely capable, let alone motivated, to deal out the torture that followed.
'We'll try to flush it. That was a diuretic drug I just squirted into you.' Was she ever going to get the order right? Explanation before administration of nasty brews – surely it’s in the early pages of the doctor books.
"Now you hev to wait for twinty minutes. Thin you hev to huv a wee. But you must wait the full twinty minutes first." With a hearty chuckle Doctor Betty and her heavy Kiwi accent departed.
The chuckle had nothing to do with the good Doctor's vision of a future All Black win. It was because she had done this before, and she worked in this place only because ASIO, the CIA, and the FBI no longer employ medicos like her.
After twenty minutes, my walk to the loo resembled an impression of John Cleese doing an impression of Basil Fawlty in an attempt to impress the old boys at the Cherterfield Club, what! I did not believe it possible to say 'ahhhhhhhhhhh' in relief for so long without drawing breath.
'All clear. You cen go. I hope it wasn’t as bad as the kidney stone experience, chuckle chuckle.'
The worst humiliation of all. She must have known about it from records. The time I ceased rolling in agony for just a split second as the medicos gathered round the x-ray all nodded in doubtless agreement as the boss announced. "Must be the smallest kidney stone I’ve ever seen".