so i'm leaving my gynecologist's office today. it was a day like any other pretty spring day - except that i got the news that most of my tangerine-sized fibroid (aka, Agatha) is in my uterine wall. frak! so, dealing with the knowledge that i'm going to have to work from home for almost a whole month while i recover, i push the down button for the elevator. my gyno is in one of the oldest buildings in the city; it's a gorgeous pile of stone, brick and marble. but, as i stepped onto the elevator and noted how the doors vibrated and closed with more of a jerk than a smooth slide, i realized that it made me a little nervous.
(remember The Overlook?)
the elevator made its way down in fits and starts. it stopped once between floors and when i hit the 1 button in panic, it started down again. by the time it shuddered to a stop on the 30th floor i was through. a bearded man stepped inside and when nothing happened for long ominous moments, i took that as my cue to exit.
'this is weird,' i said. 'i'm taking another elevator.'
i stepped off and soon after the doors closed behind me, alarms within the elevator began to clang. the man inside the elevator pounded on the doors yelling 'For god's sake get me out! Get me out!' the alarms kept ringing.
going into the nearest dentist's office i said, 'There's a man trapped in the elevator and someone needs to call down to security!'
the tiny filipina receptionist said, 'what elevator?'
'this elevator!'
'he's trapped?'
'call 911!'
my phone wasn't working for some reason so my 911 call didn't go through and the man was still pounding on the door and the alarms were still clanging. putting my face really close to the seam where the elevator doors met, i yelled, 'help is on the way, sir! don't worry! they're coming!'
muffled now: 'for god's sake! get me out!'
'ok, sir! they're calling 911!'
then i set off down the stairwell - 30 floors down to the lobby.
what a day, you know?
9 comments:
Wow, that guy sure wigged out in a hurry. I don't think he handles stress or enclosed spaces well.
Look at you and your kickass instincts! You should listen to those instincts.
Agatha! She is such a troublemaker. You know, a friend of mine once had an ovarian cyst removed (and it took the ovary with it). Turned out to be a dermoid cyst, the kind that can have crazy shit like hair and teeth in it. The doctor actually showed it to my friend afterwards! She did not want to see it.
So then when my cousin had a suspicious-looking ovarian cyst and had to have it removed (with its corresponding ovary), she named it Harriet. You know...because it could have hair in it. Turned out to be a regular cyst of a non-dermoid variety.
I have a wee polyp that has sprouted from my eardrum. I haven't named it yet. It causes a little drainage, and the doctor painted it with gentian violet (pretty! the inside of my ear is purple!) to dry it up. So what would be a good name for this wee polyp?
Sorry your surgery will be more extensive than previously hoped, ding.
Nothing's worse than an unwelcome Agatha. I'm sorry to hear about the involuntary staying in--I hope you've got good A/C (I'm obsessed with A/C these days). I'm with Orange: impressed by your kick-ass instincts. Me, I'd have stayed in the elevator figuring that it would be fine. Stuck elevators only ever happen in the movies, right? They get stuck and/or they gush waves of blood (fitting for a gyno's office in some grisly way--sorry, but you're the one who brought up the Overlook).
I'm being cured of that delusion, about stuck elevators not happening to me. In India, elevators are small closet-you-could-barely-fit-4-tiny-people-sized. And with several powercuts a day, you can get stuck in a tiny, hot, probably pungent smelling space quite easily. As a result, I'm climbing stairs regularly, in spite of the fact that the stairwells are the same temp as outside (hot and muggy); the flat we're in is on the 3rd floor, the office I'm hanging out in is on the 3rd floor, and food and drinks are on the roof, which is effectively the 7th. My knees are either going to break, or be really strong by the end of the summer.
Hey hon,
I'm so sorry to hear of the complication on the surgery - definitely time for you to start an Amazon wishlist and up the number of movies on the Netflix account.
Good job on getting out of the elevator - it sounds like the only thing worse than being trapped would be being trapped with the poor panicked man who was trapped.
orange: yeah, my sense of self-preservation is very well-honed. the one time you're not vigilant is the time you end up some hump in a serial killer's basement.
and the thing with the hair/teeth? euww. that's totally gross. but it would be just my luck that my 'fibroid' turns out to be the abnormal child i would have had with some boy i slept with except that it totally mutated. i just grossed myself out.
liza: your knees will be stronger than ever! why? because all those stairs you're climbing are helping you strengthen your thighs, which actually help support your knees! see? india is good for you.
instincts. i wonder how many women are conditioned to ignore their instincts. you know? because instincts aren't polite. they aren't cooperative. they're totally primal and visceral.
i was telling some girl friends a story last night of the time i kicked some guy's ass at a party because he busted in on me in the bathroom. i was running purely on instinct. threat - counterthreat.
jack bauer would be proud.
atalanta: i totally have to update my amazon list. and i have to get my bed all soft and ready for my victorian-esque convalescence.
of course, my boss said "you can do some core work before your procedure and that should help your recovery alot." (she's a total yoga freak. she looks great but come on! how fit can a person be??) so, sigh, now i have to remember my yoga core moves so my abdominal muscles don't totally sag to my knees when they remove Agatha.
my secret wish: a stack of those buppie romantic comedies. starting with Love Jones. it puts me in touch with my semi-bougie brownness.
Eh, I never do yoga and I recovered just fine from having my gall bladder out - I'm assuming it might be a similar thing - but maybe not. What are they taking out? Why a whole month?
Yesterday at school, the elevator began buzzing, and I thought of you and almost began teearing out of the elevator. It ended up just fine.
And re: instincts - they are not feminine, that's for sure. Even talking about instincts is so against gender norms, it's not even funny. Unless you are talking about maternal instincts (and not the lack thereof, that is).
shrinky: i'm getting a fibroid out. i thought i could avoid being cut into but, alas, i cannot. most of it is in my uterine wall! gack. so my doctor said whenever they cut into the abdominal thingie recovery is about 4 weeks or so. and every single woman i've talked to has mentioned being out for about 5 weeks.
dude. so not looking forward to that.
instincts...but isn't it part of the stereotype that we're supposed to be in touch with our intuition? hm. i just answered my question. intuition isn't instinct. or is it?
I think intuition is for referring to instinct that fulfill wifely/motherly duties. Instinct, in the way discussed above, seems much more about saving one's own skin.
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