Limping Towards Surgery ~ Part I, The X-Ray Tech

A few days ago I met with yet another orthopedist in the hopes of resolving my hip issue once and for all.  At this point, I’m tired of talking about it, tired of thinking about it and tired of hurting over it.  I just want it resolved.  The time has come to cut it out, scrape it clean, staple it down and sew it up.  I just want to get back to my life as I know it.

The first thing Dr. New Orthopedist wanted to do was take his own x-rays.  My previous x-rays were taken three months ago and were therefore deemed “too old.”  I needed “more current” images.  I think this is code for “I don’t trust your previous doctor,” but whatever.  I want him to be comfortable treating me and if that means more x-rays, then more x-rays there shall be.

Like a good soldier, downstairs to the x-ray room I marched, to the best of my ability.

There I sat, in a full-to-capacity waiting room.  I’m guessing their images were “not current enough” either.  And then it happened.  The door to the x-ray room opened.  And in that doorway stood the x-ray tech, who was hot with a capital Sex.  Dude, you can shoot x-rays into me anytime.  It was the chest hair peeking out through the v-neck of his scrubs that really did me in.  That and the smile made of one part sex, two parts radiation.  Holy shit.  He stood in that door frame in front of a halo of backlight and I could hear a tidal wave of porn music explode from behind him and rush full force into the waiting room, drowning us all in the thump thump thump.  I looked around ~ surely I’m not the only person who hears this.

He called my name.  Thump thump thump.

I walked into the room, certain I would see a film crew ready to shoot a scene for the movie XXX Ray:  He Saw Right Through Me.  Boom chicka boom chicka wah wowwww.

He closed the door behind me.  Click.

“What are we doing today,” he asked without looking up from the paper I handed him.  Boom boom boom boomboomboom boom boom.

“My left hip.  I have Altoids and my phone in my pocket.  Do I need to get rid of them?”  Bauuuum thawackawacka.

“Nope.  You’re going to have to drop your shorts, so it won’t matter.  Are you wearing underwear?”

That was the precise moment I realized that porn music is based on the underwater pulse of blood pushing and pressing through your temples.  Whooosh boom.  Whooosh boom.

Sadly, this was where the porn fantasy ended and “XXX Ray” morphed into “Lucy Goes to the Doctor.”  The music that had been whoosh booming so loudly in my head devolved into a series of high to low slide whistles accompanied by the underscoring they use to accentuate the stupidity of anyone on a reality show.  Wah wah wah.

I dropped my shorts but didn’t take them off.  They just puddled around my ankles.  XXX Ray crouched down in front of me.  At this point you’d think the porn music would have been Palladium loud, but not so much.  He was adjusting my hips so that they would line up with the +, but my feet were shorts shackled.  And I began to fall.  I hop hop hopped.  I reached for something ~ anything ~ stable.  I tried to grab onto what I’m sure is a multi-million dollar machine ~ discovering that it is, in fact, not stable.  I tried not to grab XXX Ray’s ears.  That would have been…unseemly.  I was a game of Jenga.  Slide whistle.

I righted myself and somehow abstained from blurting out that I am a dancer.  At this point, I didn’t think it appropriate.  Or necessary.  Or particularly believable.  Clearly a pro, XXX Ray had the wherewithal not to acknowledge a single thing that had taken place in the last five seconds and simply asked me to hold my shirt up to get it out of the way.  Cool.  We were moving on and pretending nothing happened.  Every moment in life doesn’t need to be Oprahed.  He then handed me a “thyroid shield,” which is essentially a dog collar with the capacity to repel radiation.  Awesome.

With my shorts around my ankles, a dog collar around my neck and my shirt hiked up to my nipples, I looked up for the first time and realized that I was standing in front of a wall of windows ~ oh look, there’s the sidewalk ~ on the ground floor.  He assured me that the windows were tinted and that no one could see in.  Honestly, I could have given a rat’s ass that someone could see me nearly naked.  But that they might see me naked in this particular scenario did, I have to admit, give me pause.

XXX Ray ran behind a wall and click clicked.  X-ray number one was done.

Suddenly a stepstool appeared.  He told me to put my left foot on it.  Rather than just sit down and take my shorts off, I opted to try and Houdini my shorts shackles by struggling to get my foot, still in my shoe, out of them, without bending down.  Tug tug.  Hop hop.  Not as dramatic as my first near tumble, but graceful isn’t a word I’d use either.  I extricated myself from my shorts and did as he asked.  With my foot on the stepstool I looked like I was leading a brigade ~ or posing for a statue of someone leading a brigade.  The kind of statue one might find in front of the Calvin Klein Library.  Shirt hiked, foot up, pants down, radiation-repelling dog collar clasped securely around my neck.

At this point he gave me a black disc to hold in front of my most important appendage.  Why he didn’t give me this before the first x-ray, I have no idea.  Isn’t my most important appendage precariously close to the target area?  Significantly closer than, say, my thyroid?  But I’m not one to ask questions.  Once again, he crouched before me and began lining my hip up with the +.  Thankfully, this time when he moved me I could balance myself as one leg had broken free.

Now…my right foot is on the floor surrounded by a puddle of shorts, my left foot is on the stepstool leading the charge, my right hand is across my chest holding my shirt up and my left hand is holding my radiation-repelling cup.  Oh, and I’m wearing a dog collar.  I was a cross between Demi Moore’s pregnant Vanity Fair cover and page 69 of The Leatherman catalogue.

He ran behind the wall and click clicked again.

And wham bam thank you Ma’am, we were done.

Sadly, there are no pictures of this dignified moment.  Well, no external pictures.  The only evidence I have of this Al Parker meets Jack Tripper moment is the x-ray ~ which absolutely shows my wiener ~ which absolutely makes me wonder about the efficacy of my nuclear cup.