Shrinking Violet

I think I might have post-traumatic stress. Not to be a drama queen, but...well, there's no help for that. What with the fainting and the blindness in the space of a couple weeks (very Gothic, according to my friend Caroline) I'm a little sensitive about everything. I get nervous when I drive. When I hear loud noises or feel bright light. I've turned down wine and chocolate. I'm scared to even think about orgasms. (No! Stop thinking!)

I wasn't wholeheartedly jonesing to have a CT scan. It's been scheduled since the nose camera had no results. But I don't do well with the unknown, and I'm super-claustrophobic, and I'm so delicate, and I mean, really--haven't I suffered enough?

So it was with the greatest trepidation that I headed to the imaging center this morning. A sign in their waiting room identified them as the official imaging center for the San Diego Chargers. I sat there, head clanging with the noxious Muzak (that's supposed to relax people?) and tried to picture the Chargers, one by one, getting their stuffy noses checked out. Then I realized they must have other imaging needs.

My appointment time was exact, and as I was led away, I confessed to the tech that I'm claustrophobic and "anxious." As I said "anxious" we passed through a doorway and I could see the machine. Oh, that's just not scary, I thought, but I didn't say anything. Like on TV, there was a sort of bench that would roll through an opening, but unlike on TV, it wasn't like a tunnel--more like a donut. Meaning I wouldn't actually be inside anything.

She asked me to lie face down with my chin in a vise (this has been the week for chin vises) and place my hands under my thighs. It felt like a vaguely uncomfortable yoga pose. Then she told me not to move.

This is fiiiiine, I thought, as the machine started to whir and move forward. Then I realized I was about to have a panic attack anyway, just because it's been that kind of week, so I closed my eyes and thought of Paris. That actually worked, and she didn't yell "Don't close your eyes!" so I kept them closed and before I knew it, I was done.

When I left, I noticed I'm supposed to have a blood test in the building next door, so I went in to check it out. The lab was like steerage (no Chargers here), a closet-sized room crammed with people, and what seemed to be cardboard boxes and broken fans piled in the corner. No cheery, vague pastel paintings, no lamps, no magazines. Not even those brochures that ask you to consider everything from Botox to vasectomy while you wait. The tech was alone, and the wait was 90 minutes. Uh, nooooo. Not today. There was something really unsavory about one sweaty guy in a tiny room luring the huddled masses in to drain their blood. They probably don't even have a fridge back there. He's probably just guzzling it down and then yelling "NEXT!" (Oh, sorry, watching too much vampire television.)

He said the only non-wait times are late afternoon, so I guess I'll have to bring Jarrah. Hopefully I won't swoon or lose one or more senses during the procedure, because I wouldn't want her to be alone in that office. But it's not going to happen this week. No, this week has been crowded with incident already, to quote Oscar Wilde. I'm going to concentrate on my tech dress rehearsal tonight, and the blood can wait.

Edited to add: Just got the call. The news was not good. Jill described my sinuses as "a mess" and mentioned surgery. I'm totally freaking out.