The new T-shirt idea is coming. Wait for it.
My MRI is in a couple hours, and I’m spending a lot of time inside my own head thinking about unpleasant things. Not even cancer related really.
I am simultaneously ready for this to be over and wishing it wouldn’t start. It’s a long MRI day. Technically two appointments, but it will all just feel like one long scan for the person inside the tube.
That’ll be me, by the way.
I do most appointments alone. Dan just drops me off because there’s no point in both of us getting on the elevator where someone will absolutely have their mask pulled under their chin.
Is it just me, or are noses obscene now?
It feels like the best choice two immunocompromised people can make, but I feel untethered. Mostly alone. Rollating down long, unfamiliar hallways while everything around me spins.
I’m carefully numb. I’m not scared of hospitalization. I just dread One More Thing.
When I think about people who can’t be bothered to properly mask in a hospital, I get depressed. So fuck them. I’m just going to be angry instead. It’s easier.
I’ve got a new T-shirt idea. I’ll design one that says. “I’m on Medicare. Every time I land in the hospital, Joe Biden raises gas prices. ” I bet I’d get my personal space back. Shoot, I might even get an elevator all to myself.
“But, Emily, that’s not at all how Medicare…”
Shhhhh.
I mean, who among us hasn’t handed a toddler an iPad?
