Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Poetic Justice

I'm glad to be bringing this theme to an end. I had my routine - and that is what they are calling it, ECG today. My Normal Adult 12-leader hook-up sticky-pad day out ECG. My electrocardiogram, the final phase of a series of tests I've had to endure since my visit to the Wellman Clinic seemed to suggest I was in fact, an unwellman. Trouncing my happy ignorance of the fact that my body was experiencing RAM 'Rapidly Advanced Meltdown' and slashing my sashaying to a probable early death, but without the inconvenience of actually having that knowledge.

Quick BP check to start - already checked the nurse, kind, empathetic, slightly deferential, none of the school marmish, matronly boss-bootery of the last tyrant. None of the stylised bullying some of these starchy bags exhibit. Relief. Doubly so with the BP readings. So much lower. Perhaps it's all about comfortable contact. Then the big player is wheeled in. Bringing in the machines - the beat measure. Do you have rhythm man. Do you scansion like a well constructed poem or have the staccato thump of of next door's DIY enthusiast.

Off with the shirt - expected that. Off with the shoes and socks, hmm a little less predictable. Off with the watch - only one ticker per customer if you please. A tangle of wires and sticky suckers and a precision of placement including the feet, ahhhh the old shoes and socks thing, it wasn't to protect the pristiness of the bed - the feet are involved, they play a part. And lie there, feeling odd. Like a spy about to be receive electric shock torture to help alleviate trained amnesia but without the crocodile clips and spiteful testicle manipulations.

And all was well. At the Wellman. All scares are called off. I'll be Blogging a little longer.

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