This is a humor column about a serious medical concern. Everything turned out fine, but this is my one chance to write funny stuff about my own lung biopsy. I hope.
When I arrived at the hospital, I met Jill, the RN, and immediately asked her if the doctor assigned to me was good at what he did. Jill confirmed he was “the best we have here.” I admire nurses for what they do, but I don’t think they are as forthcoming as waitresses. “How’s the tilapia tonight, Tina?”
“Not so good — it’s a little fishy. The meatloaf special is awesome, though.”
You don’t get this kind of honesty from your average nurse. “Is this Dr. Jones a good radiologist?”
“He’s no Dr. Smith, but I’m sure everything will be okay.”
Jill explained to me that after the procedure I would return to the recovery area and would not be allowed out of bed for any reason for two hours. “So, I am going to encourage you to go to the bathroom now,” she said.
“How are you going to do that?” I asked.
The nurse seemed confused by my attempt at being funny, but my wife became absolutely hysterical at this remark and there was even some talk of sedating her. Nerves, I guess.
I wanted to know if I was the physician’s first patient that morning, because the needle probe requires really good aim and I was hoping he had a chance to warm up on someone else first. When I saw the doctor, he informed me that we’d be talking to each other during the biopsy, but I would have no memory of what I said. He promised me that in the very unlikely event I said something amusing (he apparently reads my column every week), he’d note it on my chart.