A royal pain in my gluteal region
(caution: blood and gore and injections involved, not recommended as a read for heart patients and pregnant women, and you can kindly go to Esselworld or your friendly next door amusement park to be insulted further about your condition. Also, extremely long post, I think!)
Ogden Nash, (who I remember, not because I am some poetry fanatic, but because we had a poem of his in class 9 or 10 as part of our English Course 'A' syllabus) once said:
"some tortures are physical,
some are mental
but one that is both is dental"
or something to that effect.
Pretty encouraging for sadistic people to take up orthodontistry as an alternate career option if starting a BDSM website is not legal in their country, but, its obvious Nash was speaking from personal experience, keeping his own fears in context.
Maybe he's never had to take an IM (intra-muscular, for the benefit of those lucky people not jabbed in the butt with a needle, or those simply ignorant and illiterate) injection in the gluteal region, after having been bitten by a creature with a powerful sting, some hornet or wasp or something equally bad.
What started off as a usual lousy lunch at the office foodcourt turned out to be an extremely harrowing experience in the end. The bad food that one invariably gets used to (supposably) was already making me extremely miserable, after a 3 day weekend that I'd rather not recall too much, and to compound my misery further, a wasp/hornet/big bee stung me on the right index finger.
Youch!!!
Excruciating pain.
Extreme agony.
Finger swollen up. Big jai. I couldn't help but wish that the wasp or whatever had stung my middle finger, so that I could hold it up proudly after the pain subsided, in order to show it off to everyone who could see, and inadvertently give the finger to those people, who I wouldn't dare show it to normally. The totem pole hierarchy thing makes even the most defiant people superficially mild-mannered. The occupational hazards that go along with being a lowly IT employee should be put up in bold on one's offer letter.
A couple of my colleagues with whom I had put lunch egged me to run, as soon as I got stung, apparently because the wasp was after me. From a third person's perspective, it was quite a funny sight, I guess, with me clutching my right hand and running a la Forrest Gump, all over our office campus, away from imaginary wasps. Quite the reverse of chasing imaginary windmills, I must say.
A very responsive administration team at my office managed to hire a taxi, and those same two colleagues who were shouting - "Run, Hari, run. Don't let the wasp catch up with you!" , accompanied me to the 'super-speciality hospital' in the vicninty of my office, to give me some company, as I went about trying to alleviate my condition.
The super-speciality place was very neat and clean, very well maintained and well, empty. Totally devoid of people, which made one wonder what it was about that place that kept people away. Did they provide such excellent healthcare that people didn't ever have to return? Were the hospital staff so competent that there was no scope for any errors? Were people in that locality extremely healthy?
The answers to all these bullshit questions running around in my mind would soon be answered. Once I figured out what it was, it didn't seem all that mysterious anyway.
I had to request the people at the reception to take me to their emergency out-patient dept, so that I could show the doctor on duty my finger. To make one of the worst days of my life lousier, the nurse said that I would have to fill up a form and register before treatment could be administered. With an index finger that looked like a Tibbs' frankie, expecting me to fill up the form was sort of like asking a blind man to read a piece of sheet music not written in Braille, or something equally absurd.
After pretending to be much more miserable than I actually was, the nurse was kind enough to lead me to the doctor on call that day, and I was led straight to the dental care room.
Yes, the dental care room. A dentist lady, who apparently didn't have any patient to tend to, decided to take matters into her own hands, and proceeded to diagnose my condition.
I gave her my right hand, and it was very evident which finger I was stung on.
"On which finger did the wasp sting you?"
I thought it was a rhetorical question, and proceeded to show her the index finger, making a gesture very similar to Billy Bowden's, since I wasn't able to flex the finger anyway.
Ms.Dentist lady hadn't made anyone screech in agony for quite a while, which is why she must have mumbled a prayer of thanks, as she went about pressing the finger really hard at the very place where the wasp had stung me. Or maybe she was among those closet sadists that I was previously talking about.
After a considerable amount of "ouch", "oooh", "aaaarrrrgh" and other assorted noises indicating pain, which positively indicated that Dentist lady wasn't too big on taking hints from patients who were in excruciating pain, she went on to write a list of medicines that I was supposed to take.
Two injections and three sets of tablets, all because I came in the path of a fucking wasp.
I told her thatt here was no way I was going to take two injections, especially when I had taken one just the previous week, an anti-tetanus shot, and she relented and struck one off the list, after considerable chiding.
"You said you're 23? and working? We have five year old kids who come here and take injections without creating a scene! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"
*Sure, thats because I am old enough to stand up for my rights and not succumb to blackmail!*
*Thats because I'm not into BDSM the way you are.*
A whole lot of other smart replies came to mind, but I was afraid she'd force me into a dental examination, just for kicks, free of charge, and so I took all those insults without flinching.
"Oh, by the way, tell the nurse that the injection has to be an IM one, though I'm sure she knows it."
"Doctor, whats an IM injection?"
"Intra-muscular. It has to be injected in the gluteal region."
"You mean, she's going to prick my butt?"
"Something to that effect, yes."
Fuck. Getting injections was painful enough, but getting one on my hindquarters was adding extreme insult to extreme pain.
To cut a long story short, after paying the exorbitant consultation fees, and the money for the medicines and the injection, and wishing I could charge all of this to my company for having fucking wasps flying around in the campus, biting innocent 23yr old people scared of injections and trying to argue and then plead to the nurse to inject my shoulder instead of my butt, there I was, lying on the hospital bed, while the nurse was standing with the injection in her hands.
I'm glad I don't have my eyes on the back of my head, or else I think I would've fainted. The injection was to be administered near my lower back, just about near the waist, and hence the nurse didn't have to see my gluteus maximus, thankfully, and proceeded to make small talk while preparing to jab me.
"So where are you studying?"
"Some college." (I lied, ob!)
"So you're studying or working?" (Now she tries to psych me out.)
"Working!" (I succumb to the psyching out.)
"Where?"
"Some company. Why? Are you done?"
"Not started yet. Which company?"
"Some vague company. Why are you asking me?"
I felt a sharp pain, and was suddenly wondering why I had to endure more pain to reduce the pain I had in my finger. The irony was just too much to bear.
"Relax, its ok. You just might feel like your legs are falling off, but trust me, they're still attached to the rest of you! You might blank out, but we've got Ramu there to revive you with mouth-to-mouth if you do."
Ramu, who she pointed to, was this huge pan-chewing orderly, with chest hair all the way till his double chin, and a smile that reminded you of the cud-chewing cow in that Orbit chewing gum ad. I guess they got the orderly for "shock and awe" purposes, or so that you'd not hit on the nurse. Hitting on the nurse would be the last thing on your mind, as she went about emptying 3cc of some vague injection in your gluteal region, but maybe other people have other ideas.
Once the whole thing was done with, I was trying to walk, as my colleagues were laughing at my plight to keep me in good spirits. It was quite an ordeal, sitting in the taxi on the way back to the office, with my wallet extremely light, sans all the money.
I had to rush to the ATM at my office to pick up some much needed cash. Thank God for small mercies, atleast our campus had an ATM!!
I inserted the card and requested for cash to be dispensed, and I got a slip which said "Your ATM card has expired. This transaction has failed."
Fudge fudgitty fudge fudge fudge.
Did I mention it was probably one of the worst days of my life????
Ogden Nash, (who I remember, not because I am some poetry fanatic, but because we had a poem of his in class 9 or 10 as part of our English Course 'A' syllabus) once said:
"some tortures are physical,
some are mental
but one that is both is dental"
or something to that effect.
Pretty encouraging for sadistic people to take up orthodontistry as an alternate career option if starting a BDSM website is not legal in their country, but, its obvious Nash was speaking from personal experience, keeping his own fears in context.
Maybe he's never had to take an IM (intra-muscular, for the benefit of those lucky people not jabbed in the butt with a needle, or those simply ignorant and illiterate) injection in the gluteal region, after having been bitten by a creature with a powerful sting, some hornet or wasp or something equally bad.
What started off as a usual lousy lunch at the office foodcourt turned out to be an extremely harrowing experience in the end. The bad food that one invariably gets used to (supposably) was already making me extremely miserable, after a 3 day weekend that I'd rather not recall too much, and to compound my misery further, a wasp/hornet/big bee stung me on the right index finger.
Youch!!!
Excruciating pain.
Extreme agony.
Finger swollen up. Big jai. I couldn't help but wish that the wasp or whatever had stung my middle finger, so that I could hold it up proudly after the pain subsided, in order to show it off to everyone who could see, and inadvertently give the finger to those people, who I wouldn't dare show it to normally. The totem pole hierarchy thing makes even the most defiant people superficially mild-mannered. The occupational hazards that go along with being a lowly IT employee should be put up in bold on one's offer letter.
A couple of my colleagues with whom I had put lunch egged me to run, as soon as I got stung, apparently because the wasp was after me. From a third person's perspective, it was quite a funny sight, I guess, with me clutching my right hand and running a la Forrest Gump, all over our office campus, away from imaginary wasps. Quite the reverse of chasing imaginary windmills, I must say.
A very responsive administration team at my office managed to hire a taxi, and those same two colleagues who were shouting - "Run, Hari, run. Don't let the wasp catch up with you!" , accompanied me to the 'super-speciality hospital' in the vicninty of my office, to give me some company, as I went about trying to alleviate my condition.
The super-speciality place was very neat and clean, very well maintained and well, empty. Totally devoid of people, which made one wonder what it was about that place that kept people away. Did they provide such excellent healthcare that people didn't ever have to return? Were the hospital staff so competent that there was no scope for any errors? Were people in that locality extremely healthy?
The answers to all these bullshit questions running around in my mind would soon be answered. Once I figured out what it was, it didn't seem all that mysterious anyway.
I had to request the people at the reception to take me to their emergency out-patient dept, so that I could show the doctor on duty my finger. To make one of the worst days of my life lousier, the nurse said that I would have to fill up a form and register before treatment could be administered. With an index finger that looked like a Tibbs' frankie, expecting me to fill up the form was sort of like asking a blind man to read a piece of sheet music not written in Braille, or something equally absurd.
After pretending to be much more miserable than I actually was, the nurse was kind enough to lead me to the doctor on call that day, and I was led straight to the dental care room.
Yes, the dental care room. A dentist lady, who apparently didn't have any patient to tend to, decided to take matters into her own hands, and proceeded to diagnose my condition.
I gave her my right hand, and it was very evident which finger I was stung on.
"On which finger did the wasp sting you?"
I thought it was a rhetorical question, and proceeded to show her the index finger, making a gesture very similar to Billy Bowden's, since I wasn't able to flex the finger anyway.
Ms.Dentist lady hadn't made anyone screech in agony for quite a while, which is why she must have mumbled a prayer of thanks, as she went about pressing the finger really hard at the very place where the wasp had stung me. Or maybe she was among those closet sadists that I was previously talking about.
After a considerable amount of "ouch", "oooh", "aaaarrrrgh" and other assorted noises indicating pain, which positively indicated that Dentist lady wasn't too big on taking hints from patients who were in excruciating pain, she went on to write a list of medicines that I was supposed to take.
Two injections and three sets of tablets, all because I came in the path of a fucking wasp.
I told her thatt here was no way I was going to take two injections, especially when I had taken one just the previous week, an anti-tetanus shot, and she relented and struck one off the list, after considerable chiding.
"You said you're 23? and working? We have five year old kids who come here and take injections without creating a scene! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"
*Sure, thats because I am old enough to stand up for my rights and not succumb to blackmail!*
*Thats because I'm not into BDSM the way you are.*
A whole lot of other smart replies came to mind, but I was afraid she'd force me into a dental examination, just for kicks, free of charge, and so I took all those insults without flinching.
"Oh, by the way, tell the nurse that the injection has to be an IM one, though I'm sure she knows it."
"Doctor, whats an IM injection?"
"Intra-muscular. It has to be injected in the gluteal region."
"You mean, she's going to prick my butt?"
"Something to that effect, yes."
Fuck. Getting injections was painful enough, but getting one on my hindquarters was adding extreme insult to extreme pain.
To cut a long story short, after paying the exorbitant consultation fees, and the money for the medicines and the injection, and wishing I could charge all of this to my company for having fucking wasps flying around in the campus, biting innocent 23yr old people scared of injections and trying to argue and then plead to the nurse to inject my shoulder instead of my butt, there I was, lying on the hospital bed, while the nurse was standing with the injection in her hands.
I'm glad I don't have my eyes on the back of my head, or else I think I would've fainted. The injection was to be administered near my lower back, just about near the waist, and hence the nurse didn't have to see my gluteus maximus, thankfully, and proceeded to make small talk while preparing to jab me.
"So where are you studying?"
"Some college." (I lied, ob!)
"So you're studying or working?" (Now she tries to psych me out.)
"Working!" (I succumb to the psyching out.)
"Where?"
"Some company. Why? Are you done?"
"Not started yet. Which company?"
"Some vague company. Why are you asking me?"
I felt a sharp pain, and was suddenly wondering why I had to endure more pain to reduce the pain I had in my finger. The irony was just too much to bear.
"Relax, its ok. You just might feel like your legs are falling off, but trust me, they're still attached to the rest of you! You might blank out, but we've got Ramu there to revive you with mouth-to-mouth if you do."
Ramu, who she pointed to, was this huge pan-chewing orderly, with chest hair all the way till his double chin, and a smile that reminded you of the cud-chewing cow in that Orbit chewing gum ad. I guess they got the orderly for "shock and awe" purposes, or so that you'd not hit on the nurse. Hitting on the nurse would be the last thing on your mind, as she went about emptying 3cc of some vague injection in your gluteal region, but maybe other people have other ideas.
Once the whole thing was done with, I was trying to walk, as my colleagues were laughing at my plight to keep me in good spirits. It was quite an ordeal, sitting in the taxi on the way back to the office, with my wallet extremely light, sans all the money.
I had to rush to the ATM at my office to pick up some much needed cash. Thank God for small mercies, atleast our campus had an ATM!!
I inserted the card and requested for cash to be dispensed, and I got a slip which said "Your ATM card has expired. This transaction has failed."
Fudge fudgitty fudge fudge fudge.
Did I mention it was probably one of the worst days of my life????
posted by Hari Shenoy @ 11:32 PM
7 Comments:
bwahahahaha. took a wasp sting to get you back blogging, eh?
word verification: gnsouw
will be doing this for a while
meter count ++ .. good job - thats for the WASP and of course for the nurse who had to look at the most grimy part of the psychotic zombie to ever walk on the 3rd rock.
hahahhaha..plato was right! Other peoples misery is often funny...esp if it involves a wasp,an orderly,a nurse,a soft techie and 2 onlookers.
Wish every dental student read your blog!!
What fun. So sad I missed it! :|
thank shredder and me for saving your life :P
Yeah! Thank us. And we shudve tried harder to keep that syringe! Maybe we shudve said - if people can keep their tumours/corns/teeth/extra-limbs after an operation... give us our goddamn syringe!!!
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home