And its name is Ativan.
Did the whole MRI thing last night. The good news was that the scan took only 15 minutes, not 45. Apparently they have better machines now.
Makes me wonder if they keep telling people the older, longer times because it’s so nice to tell them it will only be a third as long in person.
The first nurse I encountered was not pleasant. He was one of those high strung Asian dudes who basically radiates tension and who treats me like a particularly dimwitted pack animal that needs constant goading to get to do even the simplest things.
Really, really not a good fit for me. I mean yeah, I move slowly and cautiously, but it’s because your nattering at me overloads my verbal processing center with commands.
STFU for a second and give me time to process what you’ve already said. Geez.
I suppose I could just tune you out and do whatever seems to make sense, but occasionally there’s actual, important info in what you say, so I have to listen.
Luckily he handed me off to a way, way nicer nurse who was kind, gentle, and funny, and that’s what I respond to best.
She even laughed when, after some painful maneuvering and accompanying old man noises. I said, “Being sick is hard work, ya know. ”
Which I thought was a cute, funny thing to say. Turns out I was right!
Anyhow, she shepherded me through getting ready for the scan. Thankfully, it was a thorough modern and sleek looking machine (smoothly contoured white plastic and ceramic, very sci fi) and not the bizarre monstrosity that looked like an industrial dishwasher fucked an iron lung that I went through before.
IT didn’t help that the chamber with Monstro in it had all the grace and charm of a gym basement, or maybe a storage room under your municipal pool.
Anyhow, this place was much nicer. Soon, I was settled in to the head vice (or whatever you call the thing to keep your head steady) and then she put a sort of mask over my face that looked like the mask they made Hannibal Lecter wear as re-imagined by Fisher-Price. Or maybe Lego.
I’d already taken my Ativan when I was in the waiting room. IT produced a kind of icy calm in me which was vastly preferable to freaking out but which I don’t enjoy.
I am already far too cold and dead inside. More of that is hardly welcome.
Anyhow, I was relaxed through most of the scan, but by the end of it. I was beginning to become agitated again and I came dangerously close to entering the “I feel trapped!” realm which can only lead to panic and anxiety and misery.
So I think that before the scan on Friday, I will take two Ativan. Not looking forward to a double dose of ice and snow, but it’s better than freaking out and going through phobic hell during a scan which promises to be twice as long.
i can easily imagine me losing my shit completely and trying to escape the machine by any means necessary.
Well, they give you a sort of kill switch, so presumably I would just squeeze that and everything would shut down.
Not as dramatic as going full on Beast Mode, but probably a lot safer and a lot less likely to get a big red flag added to my medical file.
WARNING : Patient appears calm, intelligent, and well-behaved, but the second something goes wrong he Hulks out.
Nobody wants that.
More after the break.
At a van
So far, the main side effect of my Ativan use has been sleepiness.
I’ve had a pretty sleepy day.
And sadly, it’s not been the nice warm cozy kind of sleepiness.
No, it’s been more the “dragged unwillingly back into the void by the tentacles of a malevolent interdimensional whirlpool over and over again” variety.
Well, I was warned that Ativan might interfere with sleep apnea.
Actually, scratch that. Nobody warned me about that at all. I had to do my own research and find out about the potentially dangerous interactions between both Ativan and sleep apnea AND Ativan and Gabapentin on my own.
Now I am pretty sure there would be no reason why my pharmacy would know about my sleep apnea. It’s not like I take drugs for it.
They definitely know about the Gabapentin though.
Oh well. In this life, you’re on your own.
Cant trust anyone to look out for you. Because they might not. Especially if, like me, there’s something about you that makes people not want to think about you or deal with you in any way.
I am not saying people are callous or evil or neglectful. although it feels that way sometimes. It’s more like I am just too much, ya know? I have such a powerful effect on people with how I express myself that when people are not around me, it subconsciously makes them want to avoid me just to preserve their own identity.
Or something like that.
And I am sure it confuses people because I am a sweet and nice and kind fellow who is funny and fun to be around, so why do they cross the street to avoid me?
Which sadly is just another reason to avoid me. I am just so confusing!
To average folks, that all just comes across consciously as my being “weird”. And, ya know, guilty as charged. I’m weirder than most fuck.
But it’s more than that. There is an aura I generate that gently warps reality to be more like what I am trying to project.
If I ever decided to use that in a focused, drive way for my own personal gain, I could easily become a charismatic demagogue with a special cadre of “true believers” ready to have their lives and their reality defined by me.
But like Paul Atriedes, I don’t want hordes of fanatics screaming by name as they cut a bloody swatch across the world in a brutal jihad.
I just want to fix the system and bring a small number of billionaires down.
And if that takes brutal bloody violence, well then…. maybe.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.