A Penetrating Photographic Experience
Sorry I’ve been off blog. I’ve been busy with medical stuff and spent an afternoon at the hospital on Tuesday waiting for one of my head checkups. This involved an excruciatingly boring two and a half hour wait with a small four-year-old child in tow, during which I had nothing to read other than waiting-room garbage because I’d left Susan Sontag at home. So I was reduced to reading wedding brochures (harrowing) and catholic society newsletter catalogues (unbelievably harrowing) and teddy-bear stories (not as bad as catholic newsletters and twice as profound) and I was soooooo bored that I accidentally-on-purpose overdosed on at least 3 cappuccino’s and achieved that sort of giggly, strung-out, drunken high that results from milky-caffeine overdose. So I was feeling distinctly queasy and floaty by the time I was summoned to meet the neurosurgeon.
Well it turned out that I had a new neurosurgeon who perchance bore a startling resemblance to the luscious Matthew Mcconaughey. Now I was mightily pleased by this new and exciting medical development, as my previous surgeon (otherwise known as God) was distinctly old and droopy, although he was mind-bogglingly clever, but you can’t fancy a God for his brain alone, and heaven knows I deserved a bit of hot 'n' hunky medical eye-candy after everything I’d been through. So now I had the all-new-upgraded-younger-sooper-dooper-brain-surgeon. Good looks, charm and incredible intelligence. Yee-har! My ship had definitely come in.
“Good afternoon, Mrs B. How are you feeling?” he enquired in a deep, upper-class, plummy British accent.
I visibly melted. I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my knees turned to jelly. Actually that might have been due to excess caffeine, but I didn’t really care by that point because I was feeling exceedingly strange.
“Mmmm…I feel…really really good…”I purred, gazing into those beautiful, penetrating blue eyes. In fact I felt bloody awful, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
“Well that’s excellent news. I hear you had a rather rough time of it in London. I’m ever so sorry about that, but you look very well considering. I’m afraid I need to examine you, so please would you mind removing your top layer of clothing so I can check the back of your neck?”
“That’s no problem Doctor, although I usually charge £30 per hour for this you know.”
“What ?”
“Oh nothing, sorry, I’m a bit strung out this afternoon. It's been a long wait…”
He looked a bit boggled but proceeded to gently probe the back of my neck, looking for lumps no doubt. Now the back of my neck is one of my all-time-overly-sensitive erogenous zones, and having Dr Matt stroke the back of your neck is a treat that can only be imagined in the wildest dreams of middle-aged-old-ladies like myself who really don’t get out very much. I felt even more warm and twice as fuzzy. Parts of me really began to…er…glow…
“Hmm…I can definitely feel something,” he said.
“Me too. Me too…”
“What?”
“Oh nothing. Gosh, did I think out loud? Sorry…er…I do have a brain tumour, you know…”
“Hmm…Well…I…er…do apologise but I need to probe you a little deeper. It will involve a more penetrating examination, I’m afraid.”
“Woo hoo! It must be Christmas!” I thought.
“Pardon? Are you quite sure you’re feeling O.K. Mrs B? Now, hold still a moment whilst I stick this camera up your nose…hold steady...steady now…this will only hurt a bit.”
“Well Doctor I must admit no-one’s ever taken a photo of the inside of my nose before…you really are the most thorough....gahh! Argle! Zat-hurtssalot!”
He’d stuck a tiny camera and a light up my nose. My eyes were watering like mad and bulging out of their sockets. I opened my mouth and light came out. Now I knew what it felt like to be possessed. My passion drooped significantly. It’s difficult to have a warm fuzzy feeling in your nether regions with a long thick rubber tube shoved up your nose. Not the type of photographic experience that makes me juicy, if you know what I mean.
“Hmm…it’s a bit tight in here…can’t…quite…see…down your throat ...say ‘hey!’”
“Hay.”
“No, no, I want to go deeper. Much, much, deeper inside…Say it like you really mean it…'heeyyyy’…”
“Hayyyyyyouch!”
“All finished! You look fine to me. Well done! Off you go Mrs B. See you at Christmas!”
Eyes streaming, snot dripping from my nose and my ardent passion completely extinguished, I fled, vowing under my breath never to let a camera inside me again.
“Mama, why did that bad man put that big thing up your nose?” said my daughter, who had been watching intently and silently throughout. “I don’t like that man. I want my Dada. He doesn’t put big things in my Mama's nose. I love my Dada. He makes me feel better.”
“Me too, sweetie, me too.”
Don't try this at home folks
(Alas I don't have any camera-up-the-nose photos available I'm afraid, as models don't tend to like that very much, but big kudos to Roswell Ivory for this very brave shot.)
Well it turned out that I had a new neurosurgeon who perchance bore a startling resemblance to the luscious Matthew Mcconaughey. Now I was mightily pleased by this new and exciting medical development, as my previous surgeon (otherwise known as God) was distinctly old and droopy, although he was mind-bogglingly clever, but you can’t fancy a God for his brain alone, and heaven knows I deserved a bit of hot 'n' hunky medical eye-candy after everything I’d been through. So now I had the all-new-upgraded-younger-sooper-dooper-brain-surgeon. Good looks, charm and incredible intelligence. Yee-har! My ship had definitely come in.
“Good afternoon, Mrs B. How are you feeling?” he enquired in a deep, upper-class, plummy British accent.
I visibly melted. I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, and my knees turned to jelly. Actually that might have been due to excess caffeine, but I didn’t really care by that point because I was feeling exceedingly strange.
“Mmmm…I feel…really really good…”I purred, gazing into those beautiful, penetrating blue eyes. In fact I felt bloody awful, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
“Well that’s excellent news. I hear you had a rather rough time of it in London. I’m ever so sorry about that, but you look very well considering. I’m afraid I need to examine you, so please would you mind removing your top layer of clothing so I can check the back of your neck?”
“That’s no problem Doctor, although I usually charge £30 per hour for this you know.”
“What ?”
“Oh nothing, sorry, I’m a bit strung out this afternoon. It's been a long wait…”
He looked a bit boggled but proceeded to gently probe the back of my neck, looking for lumps no doubt. Now the back of my neck is one of my all-time-overly-sensitive erogenous zones, and having Dr Matt stroke the back of your neck is a treat that can only be imagined in the wildest dreams of middle-aged-old-ladies like myself who really don’t get out very much. I felt even more warm and twice as fuzzy. Parts of me really began to…er…glow…
“Hmm…I can definitely feel something,” he said.
“Me too. Me too…”
“What?”
“Oh nothing. Gosh, did I think out loud? Sorry…er…I do have a brain tumour, you know…”
“Hmm…Well…I…er…do apologise but I need to probe you a little deeper. It will involve a more penetrating examination, I’m afraid.”
“Woo hoo! It must be Christmas!” I thought.
“Pardon? Are you quite sure you’re feeling O.K. Mrs B? Now, hold still a moment whilst I stick this camera up your nose…hold steady...steady now…this will only hurt a bit.”
“Well Doctor I must admit no-one’s ever taken a photo of the inside of my nose before…you really are the most thorough....gahh! Argle! Zat-hurtssalot!”
He’d stuck a tiny camera and a light up my nose. My eyes were watering like mad and bulging out of their sockets. I opened my mouth and light came out. Now I knew what it felt like to be possessed. My passion drooped significantly. It’s difficult to have a warm fuzzy feeling in your nether regions with a long thick rubber tube shoved up your nose. Not the type of photographic experience that makes me juicy, if you know what I mean.
“Hmm…it’s a bit tight in here…can’t…quite…see…down your throat ...say ‘hey!’”
“Hay.”
“No, no, I want to go deeper. Much, much, deeper inside…Say it like you really mean it…'heeyyyy’…”
“Hayyyyyyouch!”
“All finished! You look fine to me. Well done! Off you go Mrs B. See you at Christmas!”
Eyes streaming, snot dripping from my nose and my ardent passion completely extinguished, I fled, vowing under my breath never to let a camera inside me again.
“Mama, why did that bad man put that big thing up your nose?” said my daughter, who had been watching intently and silently throughout. “I don’t like that man. I want my Dada. He doesn’t put big things in my Mama's nose. I love my Dada. He makes me feel better.”
“Me too, sweetie, me too.”
Don't try this at home folks
(Alas I don't have any camera-up-the-nose photos available I'm afraid, as models don't tend to like that very much, but big kudos to Roswell Ivory for this very brave shot.)
Labels: cancer, Roswell Ivory
posted by Lin at 10:53 AM
5 Comments:
Very funny, if slightly offputting, description (of the experience, not the doc) As to things up your nose, I sympathize entirely, having had a nasty nosebleed a few years back which they had to cauterize. I've never experienced anything as excruciatingly painful as that dab of silver nitrate on nasal membranes.
Oh Lin, I love your ability to laugh even when you're crying. And the photos with this story are absolutely perfect, just that mixture of humor and fright you put into the post.
Only you can put a funny twist on a procedure like this...
I enjoyed reading it even though I felt for you the whole time.
You are such a good writer.. your ability to tell any story in a comical way really inspires me.. and cracks me up :D.
That was indeed an extremely funny post... way to look on the bright side, as it were... of your nose!
a
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