Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2024-01-12 09:16 pm
azurelunatic) wrote2024-01-12 09:16 pm
Entry tags:
Snow! Also, nuclear stress test.
We had snow, and also it's Cold Out. This has resulted in discussions (not even debates) about The House And How To Heat It. Due to the mini-splits and the basement not being acquainted with each other, see. Result: furnace thermostat turned up, mini-splits will Cope.
I re-did my nails all snow-themed; pics on Mastodon: https://blorbo.social/@azurelunatic/111746342254103550
I did the background color and main glitter before today's appointment, then added things on top after we got back home.
One of my technical challenges is rhinestones. Some of them really don't do well with getting covered in rhinestone glue, and yet just putting them on the surface with a dot or so is a recipe for a lost rhinestone. I've been playing around with various methods, but I think some of it is down to the material. Strong reflective tints retain the faceted look better than a clear color or a faint reflective tint.
Therapy goal from yesterday, long-term: perhaps I could recover to the point where I don't feel like roaring at terrible phone menus. (The prelude to yesterday's conversation about mammograms!)
Today was a heart scan, an appointment engendered by the summer's trip to the ER with moderate chest pains (which I subsequently think were an annoyed ribcage). You can see exactly how concerned they were by the appointment timing...
I was warned that "the nuclear department" (which is in the basement) was Cold, and I should dress accordingly. Also, I should avoid a one-piece outfit, and avoid metal in my top layers. Result: heavy duty yoga pants, a long skirt, a tank top to serve the role of bra, and a pajama shirt. This worked out fine, though I did keep the sweater layer of my outside clothings on as well.
I checked in upstairs, and was ready to wait; I then got redirected to the basement! (Belovedest joined me in singing one of the relevant snatches of Phantom of the Opera.) Then we waited some more. There was no one at the downstairs desk; we took a seat. Eventually the person who does the downstairs desk emerged from the back. I'd already seated myself, because me standing to wait for the sake of some protocol accomplishes nothing good. Throughout the afternoon I would tell new arrivals that they could take a seat as it sometimes takes the person "a while" to come back out.
The big red sign had been recently edited: it told us to tell the tech if we'd had any caffeine in the past time period, but the time period was now 12 hours instead of an entire 24. Making my sullenly nomfed chocolates at yesterday's 12:30-ish an entire non-issue, instead of a tiny amount of procedure-delaying defiance. (Like, 5 minutes max.)
The department is small enough that a) the person serving front desk duty is one of the techs; b) the person on front desk duty notices new arrivals and makes a good guess at which person goes with which clipboard with paperwork; c) the department info also says that "seating is limited" and suggests that support people in excess of one can sit in the main waiting area (upstairs, but they don't say that).
I very much appreciate that the Lifetime movie that started just after we came in came with a warning to watch with care, because it contained eating disorder content. It also said it was RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES. I asked the front desk person if we could please change the channel. HGTV: might be prosperity porn, but AT LEAST NOT THAT.
After the paper was signed and it was my turn, I went to the back with the tech who doubled as front desk. I got four stickers for the leads (top of chest, bottom of ribcage), an IV placed, and my blood pressure taken. Then the imaging tech came in to give me my contrast. The IV had a cool little connector with two places for syringes to go, and a flow switch on the side. I got to see that in action just then, with a syringe of saline and the syringe of radioactive contrast. It appeared that after giving me the main dose of contrast, the tech flushed the metal shielded syringe with saline, and then I got the last dregs of the contrast with a bunch of saline. Very cool!
This contrast had a slight metallic taste, nothing like the distinctly allium-flavored (radioactive garlic) taste of the 2019 entity. I got a cup of water handed off to me, and directed to flush the contrast out of my other organs so my heart would show up more clearly. I asked if I was allowed to drink additional water. Yes, that was in fact encouraged. So I went back to the waiting room and chugged my water, then drank more water while observing the middle part of a house clusterfuck getting resolved. The range hood situation reminded me a bit of what Ev might find when she gets a kitchen renovation. (oh god.)
The first scan commenced, but I had no idea it was commencing. I got positioned in the exquisitely awful scanner and just kind of left there, with no indication when the scan was going to start. So I started doing a modified set of my physical therapy exercises. Then I realized that leaving me flat on the scanner chair was entirely possibly to get me in a state of absolute rest, and I could have fucked up the waiting period by doing any exercise at all, so I started my breathing exercises while trying to not stare directly at the blacklight tubes in the fluorescent fixtures. (They were pretty dim.) At some point the tech came back in the room and cautioned me to move as little as possible so my heart would stay in the same place, but I only had about 4-5 minutes left! :D D: I'd been getting imaged the WHOLE TIME, and while I wasn't exactly jumping around, neither had I been attempting to stay still. Wooooops. I continued the breathing exercises so I wouldn't freak out about getting it wrong and/or possibly needing to do the whole thing over again.
Claustrophobia note (full paragraph): this is worse than the bangy tube. Because while you are INSIDE the bangy tube, if you're at all capable of crab-walking/flipping & crawling, you can get yourself out of it. THIS thing is a sort of wide L-shaped contraption that you press your left side against the right-angle corner of, and it gets lowered down on top of you as you lie there (or sit there) in a chair. There is no wiggle room to slide out, particularly if you have tits that expand to fit the available space. AND THEN THE TECH LEAVES YOU THERE AND GOES OFF TO GIVE OTHER PEOPLE THEIR RADIOACTIVE CONTRAST. I think I got checked in on like every five minutes or so. Nor did I have a panic button or emergency release switch available to me. Also unlike the MRI.
At the conclusion of that scan, I told the tech that really, I had the ADHD pretty bad, and when there's a need for me to stay still, I do need to be told that explicitly.
I got a pit stop, then back to the first room, to get my "stress" drug. I've had a version of this scan before, with different equipment. I am familiar with the sensation. (The first time I didn't know what to expect.) I got an explanation this time: it's a vasodilator, and they give you caffeine afterwards, because that's a vasoconstrictor. Gotcha. I requested Coke, which my tech grabbed and had sitting right there on her desk before the medication even came in the room. And I got extra stickers, for a whole bunch of leads. And warned again about the likeliest side effects.
When it went in, I was instructed to paddle my feet to help it circulate. So I did. And the tech started asking me how it felt. Like... a vasodilator? A powerful one? I'd said before that I could feel the extra blood flow in my legs, which is the first thing I feel when alcohol is starting to affect me. Unlike my usual dose of alcohol, the feeling doesn't confine itself to my legs. I felt this under my ears. She kept asking what my side effects were feeling like. ... Like a vasodilator?!!! A bit short of breath, a bit dizzy, were the things I finally came up with, but neither was quite correct. What I actually felt like was like getting up and practicing my fencing moves.
After the time was up, I got my soda, but I only realized belatedly that I would have to unhook my mask to drink it out of the can, and started unhooking my mask with the same hand I was using to hold the can. Inevitably, I wore some of it. I did get tissues to mop up with.
I got sent back to wait with a snack and the rest of my beverage. More HGTV. I indicated, mostly nonverbally, that Belovedest was not to help me with my snack. (It was peanut butter cookies, out of a very peanut-heavy snack assortment, as I later noticed.) I finished the soda, and the cookies, and had just made myself a cup of coffee and grabbed some crackers (peanut butter sandwich crackers, natch) after sorting the bin of k-cups to see if there was anything better in there. (Not really.) But at least the bin was sorted, however temporarily.
And back I went, as the appointed waiting time had elapsed before I'd gotten more than a few sips of my coffee. It tasted weirdly of air travel.
This time I asked if I could listen to an audio book to help me keep still. My tech said of course. So I turned it on as he was positioning me. The first image was sitting upright, and while in that position I had a lovely view of the monitor on the wall, showing a lovely sea life DVD. Lots of clownfish and their anemone friends, at least one very fancy crab with fringes on its claws, the better to snag very small passing sea life and shove it in its mouth.
I was just about thinking that this time wasn't so bad, and then it was time for the second image of the second session. Back I tilted, and the monitor eased out of sight. My audiobook was definitely in order.
Eventually: "You're free to fly!"
I stood up and flapped my wings. (Physical therapy really is helping with the standing up part, incidentally. I added the abdominal exercises to the program myself, and I have the choice of crunches or merely activating the muscle groups without motion.) Then waited for the restroom to be available, and then we were on the road.
Talking with the household about certain workplace entities that need punched in the balls.
"That's what the auto-ball-puncher is for!"
"But I don't trust the automation on that."
"Those are only for infractions that you haven't personally seen happen."
...
"GEESE ARE STORED AT THE COTTAGE."
...
"No, that's built in, no special training needed: if it's dangly and below the waist, they'll go for it."
"NUDE HOT TUB PARTY! ... WHO INVITED THE GEESE?!"
...
"Untitled Goose Game: it needs a character creator."
"Any way you put it, 're-skin the goose' doesn't sound good."
"Does 'reanimate the goose' sound any better?"
I re-did my nails all snow-themed; pics on Mastodon: https://blorbo.social/@azurelunatic/111746342254103550
I did the background color and main glitter before today's appointment, then added things on top after we got back home.
One of my technical challenges is rhinestones. Some of them really don't do well with getting covered in rhinestone glue, and yet just putting them on the surface with a dot or so is a recipe for a lost rhinestone. I've been playing around with various methods, but I think some of it is down to the material. Strong reflective tints retain the faceted look better than a clear color or a faint reflective tint.
Therapy goal from yesterday, long-term: perhaps I could recover to the point where I don't feel like roaring at terrible phone menus. (The prelude to yesterday's conversation about mammograms!)
Today was a heart scan, an appointment engendered by the summer's trip to the ER with moderate chest pains (which I subsequently think were an annoyed ribcage). You can see exactly how concerned they were by the appointment timing...
I was warned that "the nuclear department" (which is in the basement) was Cold, and I should dress accordingly. Also, I should avoid a one-piece outfit, and avoid metal in my top layers. Result: heavy duty yoga pants, a long skirt, a tank top to serve the role of bra, and a pajama shirt. This worked out fine, though I did keep the sweater layer of my outside clothings on as well.
I checked in upstairs, and was ready to wait; I then got redirected to the basement! (Belovedest joined me in singing one of the relevant snatches of Phantom of the Opera.) Then we waited some more. There was no one at the downstairs desk; we took a seat. Eventually the person who does the downstairs desk emerged from the back. I'd already seated myself, because me standing to wait for the sake of some protocol accomplishes nothing good. Throughout the afternoon I would tell new arrivals that they could take a seat as it sometimes takes the person "a while" to come back out.
The big red sign had been recently edited: it told us to tell the tech if we'd had any caffeine in the past time period, but the time period was now 12 hours instead of an entire 24. Making my sullenly nomfed chocolates at yesterday's 12:30-ish an entire non-issue, instead of a tiny amount of procedure-delaying defiance. (Like, 5 minutes max.)
The department is small enough that a) the person serving front desk duty is one of the techs; b) the person on front desk duty notices new arrivals and makes a good guess at which person goes with which clipboard with paperwork; c) the department info also says that "seating is limited" and suggests that support people in excess of one can sit in the main waiting area (upstairs, but they don't say that).
I very much appreciate that the Lifetime movie that started just after we came in came with a warning to watch with care, because it contained eating disorder content. It also said it was RIPPED FROM THE HEADLINES. I asked the front desk person if we could please change the channel. HGTV: might be prosperity porn, but AT LEAST NOT THAT.
After the paper was signed and it was my turn, I went to the back with the tech who doubled as front desk. I got four stickers for the leads (top of chest, bottom of ribcage), an IV placed, and my blood pressure taken. Then the imaging tech came in to give me my contrast. The IV had a cool little connector with two places for syringes to go, and a flow switch on the side. I got to see that in action just then, with a syringe of saline and the syringe of radioactive contrast. It appeared that after giving me the main dose of contrast, the tech flushed the metal shielded syringe with saline, and then I got the last dregs of the contrast with a bunch of saline. Very cool!
This contrast had a slight metallic taste, nothing like the distinctly allium-flavored (radioactive garlic) taste of the 2019 entity. I got a cup of water handed off to me, and directed to flush the contrast out of my other organs so my heart would show up more clearly. I asked if I was allowed to drink additional water. Yes, that was in fact encouraged. So I went back to the waiting room and chugged my water, then drank more water while observing the middle part of a house clusterfuck getting resolved. The range hood situation reminded me a bit of what Ev might find when she gets a kitchen renovation. (oh god.)
The first scan commenced, but I had no idea it was commencing. I got positioned in the exquisitely awful scanner and just kind of left there, with no indication when the scan was going to start. So I started doing a modified set of my physical therapy exercises. Then I realized that leaving me flat on the scanner chair was entirely possibly to get me in a state of absolute rest, and I could have fucked up the waiting period by doing any exercise at all, so I started my breathing exercises while trying to not stare directly at the blacklight tubes in the fluorescent fixtures. (They were pretty dim.) At some point the tech came back in the room and cautioned me to move as little as possible so my heart would stay in the same place, but I only had about 4-5 minutes left! :D D: I'd been getting imaged the WHOLE TIME, and while I wasn't exactly jumping around, neither had I been attempting to stay still. Wooooops. I continued the breathing exercises so I wouldn't freak out about getting it wrong and/or possibly needing to do the whole thing over again.
Claustrophobia note (full paragraph): this is worse than the bangy tube. Because while you are INSIDE the bangy tube, if you're at all capable of crab-walking/flipping & crawling, you can get yourself out of it. THIS thing is a sort of wide L-shaped contraption that you press your left side against the right-angle corner of, and it gets lowered down on top of you as you lie there (or sit there) in a chair. There is no wiggle room to slide out, particularly if you have tits that expand to fit the available space. AND THEN THE TECH LEAVES YOU THERE AND GOES OFF TO GIVE OTHER PEOPLE THEIR RADIOACTIVE CONTRAST. I think I got checked in on like every five minutes or so. Nor did I have a panic button or emergency release switch available to me. Also unlike the MRI.
At the conclusion of that scan, I told the tech that really, I had the ADHD pretty bad, and when there's a need for me to stay still, I do need to be told that explicitly.
I got a pit stop, then back to the first room, to get my "stress" drug. I've had a version of this scan before, with different equipment. I am familiar with the sensation. (The first time I didn't know what to expect.) I got an explanation this time: it's a vasodilator, and they give you caffeine afterwards, because that's a vasoconstrictor. Gotcha. I requested Coke, which my tech grabbed and had sitting right there on her desk before the medication even came in the room. And I got extra stickers, for a whole bunch of leads. And warned again about the likeliest side effects.
When it went in, I was instructed to paddle my feet to help it circulate. So I did. And the tech started asking me how it felt. Like... a vasodilator? A powerful one? I'd said before that I could feel the extra blood flow in my legs, which is the first thing I feel when alcohol is starting to affect me. Unlike my usual dose of alcohol, the feeling doesn't confine itself to my legs. I felt this under my ears. She kept asking what my side effects were feeling like. ... Like a vasodilator?!!! A bit short of breath, a bit dizzy, were the things I finally came up with, but neither was quite correct. What I actually felt like was like getting up and practicing my fencing moves.
After the time was up, I got my soda, but I only realized belatedly that I would have to unhook my mask to drink it out of the can, and started unhooking my mask with the same hand I was using to hold the can. Inevitably, I wore some of it. I did get tissues to mop up with.
I got sent back to wait with a snack and the rest of my beverage. More HGTV. I indicated, mostly nonverbally, that Belovedest was not to help me with my snack. (It was peanut butter cookies, out of a very peanut-heavy snack assortment, as I later noticed.) I finished the soda, and the cookies, and had just made myself a cup of coffee and grabbed some crackers (peanut butter sandwich crackers, natch) after sorting the bin of k-cups to see if there was anything better in there. (Not really.) But at least the bin was sorted, however temporarily.
And back I went, as the appointed waiting time had elapsed before I'd gotten more than a few sips of my coffee. It tasted weirdly of air travel.
This time I asked if I could listen to an audio book to help me keep still. My tech said of course. So I turned it on as he was positioning me. The first image was sitting upright, and while in that position I had a lovely view of the monitor on the wall, showing a lovely sea life DVD. Lots of clownfish and their anemone friends, at least one very fancy crab with fringes on its claws, the better to snag very small passing sea life and shove it in its mouth.
I was just about thinking that this time wasn't so bad, and then it was time for the second image of the second session. Back I tilted, and the monitor eased out of sight. My audiobook was definitely in order.
Eventually: "You're free to fly!"
I stood up and flapped my wings. (Physical therapy really is helping with the standing up part, incidentally. I added the abdominal exercises to the program myself, and I have the choice of crunches or merely activating the muscle groups without motion.) Then waited for the restroom to be available, and then we were on the road.
Talking with the household about certain workplace entities that need punched in the balls.
"That's what the auto-ball-puncher is for!"
"But I don't trust the automation on that."
"Those are only for infractions that you haven't personally seen happen."
...
"GEESE ARE STORED AT THE COTTAGE."
...
"No, that's built in, no special training needed: if it's dangly and below the waist, they'll go for it."
"NUDE HOT TUB PARTY! ... WHO INVITED THE GEESE?!"
...
"Untitled Goose Game: it needs a character creator."
"Any way you put it, 're-skin the goose' doesn't sound good."
"Does 'reanimate the goose' sound any better?"
no subject
Also thoughts on how to breed domestic geese with that lovely black and white livery with the cheek patches so they look wild even if they aren't
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Ohh you got stuck in the nuclear scanner thing! That happened with T when he got his nuclear stress test AEONS ago. Yeah, that thing traps you. I can barely deal with being in the tube that sounds like Riz Ahmed is using it for drumming practice, and that's with a panic button. UGH.
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I do not like the sound of that L-shaped contraption.
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As adventures in medical shenanigans, that sounds like a *lot* - I did not love being in tubes I couldn't easily exit - the L-shaped torture frame sounds infinitely worse! Hopefully they bring forth useful information!
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