Yes, We Have No Bananas

I went to see a new neuro of sorts last week–an Alleged Epileptologist. Why?? Because I am special and have my fancy-pants three types of seizures. I am nothing if not an attention hog, epileptically speaking.

{What?? You only have grand mal?? Pah!!–amateur}

So she is running the gamut of basic tests (stand on one leg, walk with one foot in front of the other, touch your nose with your eyes closed, touch the doctors fingers, do a handstand while humming God Save the Queen and juggling three Valencia oranges). She also had me give a fifteen minute soliloquy on my History Epileptical. I rattled on about this that and the other and answered all her inquiries with good cheer and not ONE IOTA OF SMARTASSEDNESS. I swear. Ahem.

Anyway. In the middle of all this (and this my friends is what sets apart your basic neuro from your high-falutin’ Epileptologist because my previous neuros have NEVER done this–yes THIS is why they get the big bucks) she says ‘Remember these three words, Babs. Apple, table, penny’

‘Oog!! Is this some sort of memory test?!’

{I was wondering seeing as she’d asked me about my attention span and I told her that these days it is bloody non-exis–oog!! Must do dishes later. And isn’t Frasier on right now??}

‘Why yes. Yes it is. Remember those words we’ll come back to that later’

‘Apple, table, penny. Apple, table, penny. Apple, table, penny. Apple, table, penny–sorry I don’t mean to sound like a nutjob, but if I don’t repeat in constantly RIGHT NOW I will never remember it’

‘Oh that’s ok, Babs’

She rattles off more questions, talks to me about possible tests they might run and so on and so forth. She even frightens the life out of me by mentioning something called an ‘Intracranial EEG’. And let me tell you I sorted rather quickly that part of that word is ‘In’, the other part was ‘cranial’ and knew that I wanted NOTHING to do with it. But luckily she was only mentioning it in the course of things, not as something she wanted me to undergo (I think. I hope. Oh dear god, I fucking PRAY). Which is good. Because–and call me fussy if you like–I am SO not a fan of Holes in My Skull. Nor of being wired up like a 1976 Dodge Charger. And think of what it would do to my do!?!

No one fucks with the hair, people. NO ONE.

‘Ok, Babs. Let me go confer with my colleagues’

‘Righto. I’ll just sit here bored shitless’

I looked out the window into the city. Because I am a Fancy Bitch now and this doctor is in Manhattan. So I watched the peons trotting from here and there while I sat in the room of the free clinic I had to trick my way into because, actually?? My insurance isn’t accepted by ANY epi-frickin-lepsy centers in the Greater NYC area. So I’ve got to back-door my way into this one–if they see me at the clinic (where my insurance IS accepted) they can then assess my situation and bump me into the eppo center who is then forced to accept my insurance because this doctor will demand certain testing that only they can do. And doesn’t all that rigamarole just make so much more sense than going to the eppo center straightaway??

That’s what I thought.

Sitting there I thought to myself ‘Oog!! She forgot to ask me about the apple table ummm what was it?? thingie. Fuck fuck fuck. What was it??’ I finally remembered and rattled off the answer to myself again over and over in case she DID remember to ask me.

About fifteen minutes later she toddles back in and says ‘Oh Babs, I forgot something…’

I cut her off and shouted gleefully (and with a smattering of know-it-all tude, for that matter) ‘Aha!! Apple, table, banana!! Apple, table, banana!! Ha!! I KNEW I’d remember!!’

*does smug epileptical victory dance*

‘Well no, that wasn’t what I was going to ask you–well I was but I was going to ask you *question I cannot remember now because I have the attention span of a god damned sea-monkey* this first. And, um. It wasn’t banana’

‘Wasn’t it??’

‘No. It was penny’

‘FUCK’

I am doomed.