Angio-Addi

Just call me Dr. Angio-addi, as I had the kick-ass opportunity to "scrub in" on one of my client's angiogram yesterday. (Those of you in the medical field are yawning and saying things like, "what's so big about that?" Well, for someone who works as a counselor, it's mighty big news, so don't poop on my angiogram parade.) Grey's Anatomy, here I come!

It all started because my client, Mr. Ugly Toes (he'd be okay with that nickname because he does indeed have very ugly toes) was medically hospitalized on the cardiac unit of a local hospital. That in itself is very uneventful. Cut to him, a person with a pain-in-the-ass-load-of chronic-paranoid-schizophrenia, throwing a hissy fit because he doesn't want this and that test done, he doesn't like anyone, he's very paranoid of everyone and everything and he is certainly not going to cooperate with any of these medical professional. Hence, my phone rings. (Cardiac personnel know what to do if you are having a heart attack but not if you are someone with schizophrenia. Makes sense.) They are asking I come right over as I am the only one he is agreeing to see at this moment in his not-so-happy life.

I get to his hospital room, only to find him surrounded by various medical personnel. He is in a not-so-quite voice telling them what they can do with their angiogram. He looks at me and yells that I am only there to talk him into all this. I smile and agree. I am most certainly there to do just that. As I am a smooth-talking-tidbit-of-a-beloved-counselor, I have him calmed and cooperating in a matter of minutes. Of course, he continues to call me a horse's ass, but I am okay with that. I talk to the surgeon and offer to go with during the angiogram in an effort to keep Mr. Ugly Toes on the table and full of cooperation. I have not one shred of belief that they will allow this, but it can't hurt to offer. To my complete surprise, the surgeon says yes. Doogie Howser has nothing on me!

I spend the next several hours filled with glee. How cool is this? (Well, brain surgery would have been cooler, but I'll take what I can get.) When it's his time, they roll him down the hall with me in tow. They take him in to shave his parts and direct me to find some scrubs. SCRUBS! Woo Woo! Counselors never get to wear scrubs! I look at the rows and rows of scrubs and don't know where to start. Are these unisex sizes? Do the tops have to match the bottoms? Is it better to pick the bluer scrubs or the blue-greener scrubs? I make my choice of matching medium blue green scrubs and put them on. As I don't have a locker--oh my god, I'm standing in a staff locker room, just like on Grey's Anatomy!!--I put my clothes in a heap and carry them back to where Mr. Ugly Toes is getting shaved. The nurse in charge (who thankfully has been alerted to why the hell I am there) tells me to put my clothes under the gurney where Mr. Ugly Toes is perched. She then whishes me off to the control room so I can learn more about this procedure.

I found this photo on the internet and can I say it looks JUST LIKE the cath lab I was in. In fact, it looks like the same doctor and it's certainly the same set-up. I suppose all angiograms are basically the same. Anyhoo, they assign me to "Nurse Aorta," who promptly asks if the site of blood bothers me. I assure her it does not. From then on, we are best of friends. I think Nurse Aorta was excited to have someone actually care about what she does for a living. She did seem confused about why I was there, though, so I explained about Mr. Ugly Toes' schizophrenia. This intrigues her (almost as much as the upcoming angiogram intrigues me) and thus we talk of mental health and physical health.

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After that, there was no time to talk. Angiograms go FAST! No time is wasted. The incision is made, the J hook is in then out, the L hook is in then out, the Pigtail is in and out, the stitch is in, the doctor is gone. Whoosh! It takes nine billion percent longer to prepare for the angiogram than to perform it. It's all high-tech, too. Nurse Aorta was surrounded by five computer monitors. FIVE! This was Addiverse heaven: computers and surgery. Yum!

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Good news for anyone wondering: Mr. Ugly Toes has a beautiful, unclogged heart and I didn't have to do anything as his counselor--he was a true champion. I thank Nurse Aorta for her help and follow the gurnee back to Mr. UT's room. I look down at my scrubs and smile. I am SO not going to return these! I have earned these scrubs and I am SO taking them home! Mr. UT turns to me from a Valium funk and announces that I look good in scrubs. Hey, how did he know I was thinking about that? He has affirmed my belief that I must keep these hospital-issued-delights. I take my street clothes from under the gurney and hide them in my briefcase. I'm wearing these scrubs for the next three weeks of my life!

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Suffice it to say, watching an angiogram does tend to momentarily motivate one to take better care of one's health. I guess I'll have to cut down on my chocolate and caffeine intake if I don't want to end up like my father, who had surgery when...when....oh my god, I am just about the same age he was when he had his heart surgery! Someone bring me a salad! Get me some oatmeal! Doesn't anyone have a baby aspirin?!! I am quite unnerved by this and think I best not get that whipped cream on tomorrow's Frappaccino....

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I say it only momentarily motivates one to eat in a healthier manner as evidenced by what I saw the hospital staff eating in the cafeteria. No one was eating veggies and salads--they were eating FRIED COD AND FRENCH FRIES, oozing with grease. I'm not exaggerating. I'm in line waiting for my Boca-burger and everyone else is taking the fried foods, grease soaking into their paper trays. They slop on the mayo and keep moving. Don't these people look at all those clogged arteries and think about their own arteries? I suppose not. I take my Boca-burger and smile smugly because I am wearing scrubs and because I got to be at an angiogram and because Mr. Ugly Toes is going to be fine. Maybe I will have that whipped cream on tomorrow's Frappaccino tomorrow....but, I'll chase it down with a bowl of oatmeal.....