"Harassment *is* important - but a coherent system of such oppression requires one set of political responses, and a pathetic chap unwittingly throwing pain and embarrassment about requires another. I was speculating we might be at a stage where we have more of the second than the first."
What can you discern from the following woman's experience?
"As some background, I have a horrible (severe) phobia of foreign objects in my body. Needles are bad, shots are worse, catheters border on unbearable. My anxiety has focused itself in a razor-sharp point on this issue. So... I anticipated some problems with the running of two catheters up from my groin to my brain. With an IV in my hand. While I was still conscious. <sigh>
In a nutshell -- the procedure goes something like this: Doctors make a small incision on either side of your groin, sort of where your hip meets your leg. Then they snake long plastic tubes (catheters) up through your veins until they are right next to your pituitary gland. Then they actually sample the output of ACTH from both sides of your gland... telling them which side, if any, is over-producing -- thus showing the location of the tumor. For those of you trivia buffs, the tube they insert through your left groin actually ends up in the right side of your gland (pituitary). Our bodies are tricky, ain't they? It is for this reason you must be awake, for if they accidentally make a wrong turn, they need *you* to tell them. They do give you meds to obscure your awareness though. Well, they're supposed to.
I told my doctors of my difficulty (read: phobia), and they assured me that I would be well sedated and tranquilized before and during, so I needn't worry. We gotta do what we gotta do, so I went ahead and scheduled the procedure.
When I arrived that morning, I found out the neurosurgeon I had met with was busy and a different one would be performing it. I re-explaned my problem, and tried to express the fact that *everyone* would be much happer if I was unaware of my surroundings. He nodded and said that many people had problems with needles. This is when I knew we were in for a wild ride... needles are the least of my problems. He gave me 5mg of valium. I asked for more. He said this would knock me out. Ha.
I waited for 5 hours as the valium wore off.
Finally I was called into the procedure, naked from the waist down and clad only in a too-small gown... totally clean and sober. I laid down on a narrow table and was strapped down. Someone whipped out a small can of shaving cream and razer and began to shave me. This would go under the catagory of Things They Should Have Told Me Before the Procedure. Maybe I am just a modest old lady, but I am not cool with a room full of men I have never met giving me a Playboy mohawk while I am strapped to a table. At the very least, I could have done it myself at home. This did not help my anxiety.
I asked to sit up. They ignored me. In fact, they ignored me the whole time... talking over and about me. I was never introduced to any of the technitions. They started administering a drug through my IV... the name escapes me, but the purpose is for you to be awake while having no memory of the procedure. Then they started. I was still very (too) aware and I asked them to stop for a moment. They ignored me. I tried to rationally explain that I wasn't okay with this -- I needed a moment to compose myself. The ignored me. I demanded they stop. No response. I started to cry. Then I became panicked and started screaming for help. I called the doctors monsters and rapists. (Which is sorta how I still feal about them.) A nurse heard me and ran in, and she tried to talk to me and calm me down for the next 2 hours. I begged with her to make them stop. No dice. She was very kind though, and her presence helped enormously.
When I was rolled out, I was in shock and near catatonic. My parents were horrified and assumed something went wrong in the procedure. The nurse assured them that it went fine, but that I was aware and awake during the whole thing. My father went livid and almost went after the neuro who had assured us that I would be out. The nurse told us that high levels of anxiety can often cancel out the effects of the drug they give during the procedure, and that is what happened in my case. Seems I was clean and sober throughout the entire deal, even though they kept giving me more medication. It was just too late for it to work. I could've told them that. Oh wait, I did.
The neuro later came in to make sure I was okay. The only thing I told him was that he should've made sure of that a lot earlier. The irony of the whole thing is that by some mix up of paper-work, I never signed a consent form. Thus they had *less* than no authority to continue when I requested a stop.
I post this with great hesitation, because the last thing I want to do is scare someone away from having this test. The truth is, I will probably be having another one in the near future because it is often helpful and reliable. This time, however, I know what I am getting into. I will demand considerable sedation before and be a more aggressive patient. That is the most valuable lesson I have learned, and it is still what keeps me going. The only thing that went wrong was that I blindly trusted the doctors to take care of my needs, and if we stop doing that, we can prevent more experiences like mine."
BJR And the docs were measuring a stress hormone at the time. (it was 'high' I understand).