To My Dearest Wife
To my dearest wife. Today I took the step to prove that I have a heart. Did I buy flowers? No. Did I buy candy? No. I went and had an Echocardiogram today. If you've never had the pleasure of having an "Echo" done, it's basically an ultrasound done on your heart. Mine started with the technican stating, "Remove your clothes above your waist". You get to lay on a table with one hand above your head and one at your side. Almost like a scantily clad supermodel laying on the beach in a sandy bikini. The lights dim. You wait for the classical music to start playing, but it doesn't. The walls are painted with this ocean theme of dark blues and greens with a stary sky towards the ceiling. The censor is coated with this KY like jelly and then pressed firmly against your skin. It seems to always press against my ribs, so it hurts a bit. You get you lay in different poses and have the sensor moved around on your chest. Meanwhile the techincan has a mixture of a keyboard with a trackball and joystick with a monitor. Your get to see your heart pulsing and see real-time sound waves while you hear them. It doesn't sound like a heart beat, but a distorted "woooo Uhhhhhh Wooooo Uhhhhhh". I think I can recreate the sound with Rebirth on my Mac. Kind of a weird sound to hear, but interesting as well. The test tastes about 45 minutes. Afterwards you get to wipe all the jelly substance of your chest. Being the Grizzy Adams man that I am, it's fun getting to clean that off. Really. Afterwards, you get to leave and go home, feeling a bit cheap and used. Will I do it again? Do I want more from this experience? Probably, my heart is a whore.
Posted by monkeyinabox ::: |