For you sweethearts holding your breath for me here, an update.
Got to the hospital fine and dandy today. Signed in, braved the labyrinth of halls to find the directed place, signed in, waited 30 minutes, got to the room with the nice technician. She told me to remove my clothes and put on the robe. I thought she was jumping the gun a bit. She might not have to buy me dinner, but she is supposed to inject some dye into my arm – which takes 2-3 hours to get where it’s needed. Undressing just then meant a lot of skin time.
This is how we realized that I was in the room for a bone density test, not a bone scan. Ten minutes of confusion later, the lady in the nuclear something-or-other department explains that I was scheduled for the wrong test by my doc’s guru. And they have no room for me at the inn today. Boo. (And let it not go without saying that any medical test taking place in a department with the label “nuclear” attached is beyond creepy, no?)
So…I had the x-rays (clear), but the other test will be Monday morning; I’ll see the doc that afternoon. At least I have a dear friend in the neighborhood of the hospital who is free to waste some time with me that afternoon. Meanwhile, the doc has given me Vicodin. Wow – I didn’t even get that when I had my reconstructive surgery! I doubt I’ll take it, but in some strange way I feel kinda badass for having “permission” to take what makes even Dr. House so functional. I guess if it’s good enough for the most brilliant fictional man in medicine, it’s good enough for me.