Into the Belly of A Doughnut, or, Randi Jo is a Big Fat Coward

For lack of a better way to put this, I have had some major sinus problems lately. Like stuffy, runny nose all. the. time. Like for months (yes, this problem makes me revert to teen-speak, like, it’s that bad). Really though, it’s driving me crazy. I practically had a trip to Mexico planned to have my teeth removed and implants put in because my top teeth hurt so bad until my dentist suggested the pain may be from my sinuses and not the fact that I have the teeth of a baby inside my adult head. Not only did I nearly have perfectly good body parts removes because of my stuffy nose, but I’m starting to look like the Living Walking Dead, by which I mean my skin is not rotting and peeling off my body and I can mostly walk in a functional manner, but my eyes are so black I could pass as a zombie. At one point a friend saw me without undereye makeup and shrieked, “Do you have a blood disorder?”

Yeah, it was lovely.

Finally having enough of this, I decided to go back to the doctor and whine and complain until he decided to finally do something about this (besides giving me some kind of nasal spray that felt like tiny darts impaling themselves across the front of my forehead). He sent me for a CT scan.

I have never had a CT scan before and I was terrified. Yes, I know they don’t hurt but when you have severe claustrophobia being forced into a tiny tube causes enough mental anguish to make it onto the pain scale.

So I had to lie there, on a skinny little bed (I assume those who are severely obese are not allowed CT scans for fear of tipping off the bed?) and stare at the ceiling as the nurse pushed a lever to slide me forward into the tube of death. However, to my great surprise and excitement, I had been confused in my initial assumptions about this scan. The tube I had so feared was actually just a round ring with an approximate diameter of not much more than 10 inches, give or take 5 inches or so (yes, geometry was not my best subject, just bear with me here).

And yet, I don’t even know how they got a good reading because my heart was pounding so heavily I was sure it was forcing my entire body further into the scan with each, Ka-Thunk. Like when your entire body twitches when you have very bad hiccups. That’s what was happening to me. And really, it’s not like I couldn’t have sat up and walked away at any time. (Wait a minute, I couldn’t. The nurse told me to lie still, so being the obedient hospital patient I was, I had to follow orders!)

Essentially, my head had been shoved through an extra large glazed doughnut and I was having a heart attack. How’s that for tough?

When the zombie apocalypse come, we all know who’s the first to go….

But back to my scan. So I was lying there, staring at the round tube (okay, okay, my eyes were shut tight, you got it out of me) that began to whir and and spin (I opened my eyes for just a second there to see what it was doing). It’s like the ring had become the spin cycle of a washing machine only I was looking in from the top, stationary while it spun around me. And then it began to smell like someone had added bleach.

Then the whirring stopped and I was removed from Hell’s pastry, to be sent on my merry, sniffling way.

So to recap my morning: I sat in the waiting room of the hospital for nearly an hour just to have the opportunity to be jarred by my pounding heart as my head was shoved into the hole of a doughnut that then spun around me while emitting the delicate scent of bleach.  It was a terrifying 2 minutes.

Okay, it really wasn’t that bad. As most things are in life (at least mine), the thought was so much worse than the thing itself.

Excuse me now while I come to terms with the fact that I am the reddest-bellied coward that ever did live.

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