Time to Wait

This past week has been busy. I've readying my family for a move and cleaning up this house after a week or so of no old folks. I got a call Saturday from Judy saying that they'd be home on Monday. I was expecting them home on Friday. Oops. That meant clean clean clean like a banshee before said banshee comes home and my hearing gets noticeably worse.

Today I finally got what I wanted, an MRI. ooo. I know your jealous.

I really didn't want one, but you know...better safe than sorry. I think I've been poked by needles at least a thousand times since my conception. Sometimes the nurse is an effing saint/aritist poking my sad little veins quickly, cleanly, and painlessly. Other times…not so much. Today my Nurse Betty was a rather SLOW LMH nurse who couldn't figure out how to coax my tired, angry veins into plump, happy, and excited-to-be-stuck-again ones. She wasn't my favorite by far, but then she didn't blow out anything. It's really the small things in life that make me smile.

Lying in the tube on my stomach with my boob(s?) in the boobbox was interesting as usual. I learned that hospitals think that earplugs and earphones blaring in Star 102 actually shut out the noise of the contraption. They don't, not one bit, and unfortunately I couldn't drown out the radio either. I still don't know what's worse...pop music or deafening metallic banging. Thankfully I'm part of that delightful generation that suffers from premature hearing loss, and my memory is still foggy from last year's drugfest, so maybe I won't remember why my ears seem to hear a little less later on.

Now that's over with. I wait. I'm waiting to move, waiting hear back on this adventure, and waiting for the old folks to come today and holler about something. At least I don't have wait to further damage my ears.