Speaking of my parents' transition into the Golden Years has led to some reflection on days gone by. I have many stories to tell: some really funny, others not so much.
In 1996, I was told that I needed spine surgery. After the initial shock and dismay, I accepted this as the only way forward. Little did I know that this would result in one of the most embarrassing moments in my life.
Picture a reasonably well-turned out, newly wed young woman, facing spine surgery at 22. I am told, by my surgeon, to go to an Orthotist in Rosebank where they will "custom make" an orthopedic brace that I will need to wear after the surgery. "Sure, fine, no problem" I say - thinking that obviously, they will take some measurements and that will be it. Of course, things are never just that simple, well not in my life anyway.
Brace yourself.
As I glance around the waiting room, it's clear to see that the average age of patients is somewhere between 70 and 80 years of age. By this standard, I stick out like a screaming babe in a church service.
The room resonates with a hum of conversation and machines. There are so many elderly people with casts, walkers or walking sticks. I hope that I am never that frail, but if I'm having spine surgeries already... maybe I'll need a wheelchair! As my thoughts drift down this dismal path, my name is called. I see an older man of about thirty-five, I wonder why his smile is so wide? I don't remember his name and so for the purpose of this story I shall call him Tom.
I am guided into a little room to the right of the door is an ugly hospital green medical screen, behind the screen is a black plastic chair. To the left there is a black rubber mat, a bucket, a box of cheesecloth, a tub of white powder and two hair dryers. What the heck is all this for? Oh... they must do plaster casts and stuff in here, I mused.
Tom's voice interrupts my thoughts. "Okay... so, what you need to do is get undressed and slip this on, like a dress...these holes here are for your arms" Tom explains, holding out a tiny bit of mutilated cheesecloth that will barely cover my torso from boobs to butt. "Please don't leave your underwear on because we are going to make a plaster cast of your torso, for the brace. Once we are done, we will have to cut it off you, so anything under the cast will be cut off also."
As the light of horrible understanding dawns, I appreciate why it is that Tom is chewing on the inside of his cheek as he explains my fate, he is trying not to look happy! At least he has the decency to blush! I think as I feel my face redden too. He leaves the room muttering, "I'll be back in a few minutes".
With a deep sigh I resolve to behave like a grown up. To my horror this stupid handkerchief is completely transparent. Oh boy! I might as well stand here starkers! "How's it going?" Tom says, making me jump, I didn't even hear him come back in.
"Umm, not great actually, could I possibly have another one of these, this one is just a bit... short?" I ask, peeking my red-faced head around the screen. Great, he's brought his friends, what the hell? "Sure, I'll just cut you one" he turns his back and grabs another bit of cheesecloth. "Oh... and, uhum, this is Mutt and Jeff (can't remember names again - but these will suffice), they are student technicians who will be assisting me. We have to work really fast because the plaster dries quite quickly." Mutt and Jeff stand just behind Tom, but I can tell they are equally amused with their assignment.
Fan-freeking-tastic! I know I am gaping, but seriously? "Great!" I say as I snatch the next bit of fluff and pull it over my head. Hah ha - now I have a double layer - not that transparent now, yay me! I step out from behind the screen in my little cream "cookie pelmet", feeling like a stripper at a nun convention. Subconsciously folding and unfolding my arms wishing I could find a little hole in the wall to crawl into.
I wait for them to show me the next step on the humiliation train to custom-made back braces. With ill concealed glee the three men step aside and show me to the black rubber mat. "If you could just stand here, we can get started," Tom begins. Mutt and Jeff wait for me to take my place and then kneel before me. Oh, this just gets better and better, I am sure from that angle they can see right up my little mini, wonderful! I think I am cringing and try to force myself to roll my shoulders back and hold my head high. I am sure if they killed the lights the room would glow from the blush that I cannot control.
They begin to mix the plaster and then, (I kid you not) they start rubbing the wet plaster mixture into the cheesecloth and what lies beneath. The lukewarm sludge turns ice-cold within seconds and I begin to shiver (bear in mind I am cold, wet and in white - super combination really). Finally, Tom takes pity on me and switches on a little fan heater that I had not noticed behind the bucket of plaster. The warmth seeps into my cold feet and slowly rises warming my legs and easing some of my physical discomfort.
They continue their fastidious abrasions: my hips, lower back and stomach are now encased in old wet plaster. There is no eye contact until I am asked to raise my arms (come now - you know what happens to a "dress" when you raise your arms - picture the scene). Just when I thought I could not be redder my face flushes with a deeper heat of shame. I raise my arms just slightly, like chicken wings away from my body and say, "Sorry, that will have to do." They make no further comment but again I note the strain that not grinning salaciously is taking on their poor little faces.
Jeff has obviously won some sort of contest as he now stands before me. He has a diplomatically sympathetic smile as he explains that he will need to rub the plaster under and between my breasts - so that they can "get the angle" of the front brace right. I can no longer stand the strain I release what cannot be considered a girly giggle but rather a hacking hysterical snorting laugh.
I can no longer stop myself, "Wow," I say, "and we haven't even had a date yet!" This breaks the ice and now we are all laughing, except Tom who is still trying to be professional. "I guess I will finally have an outfit that even Madonna will be jealous of..." I continue, really getting into the idea that laughter is the best medicine.
Mutt and Jeff are snickering while Tom seriously tries to explain how the brace will look when this is all over. I don't really care how it's gonna look Tom, I just want to get outta here and never see any of you again... ha ha haaa! "It's okay," I tell him, "I guess I might as well get used to perfect strangers looking and touching. During and after the surgery, it'll be a free for all." What the hell did I say that for! Dammit why don't I just shut up! I clench my jaw but my treacherous body is still shaking with laughter.
"You have a really nice smile" Mutt says, trying to make me feel better. Tom snorts and Jeff chuckles openly, "She's married dude!" he chastises playfully. Oh no! Raucous laughter erupts again and tears stream down my face, "Thanks, next thing you'll be telling me that red is a good colour on me!" I mutter, referring to the deep red blush that still will not fade. Tom is no longer pretending that this isn't funny but, ever the moral superior, he passes me a wad of tissues to wipe my tear-streaked face.
I thank him again and dab at my face, taking a few deep breaths to compose myself. The rubbing continues in silence for a while and then Mutt and Jeff pick up the hairdryers and begin my body-blow-wave. Tom is explaining that they have to make sure this layer is dry before they begin the next. He shows me a flat metal stick that looks like a long thin tongue depressor. "Once this layer is dry, I will glue this along the sternum, this will be built into the brace so that you can't bend forward."
"Okay" I reply.
Layer number two goes a bit quicker and by layer number three I am no longer a glowing red beacon visible from space. I can only imagine how I look now, in my plaster cast mini-dress that goes between but not over my boobs. I must be a vision of loveliness.
We have progressed to arbitrary conversations about study and this unusual career path. Mutt and Jeff confirm that I am one of the youngest people they have ever worked on and that usually they are handling geriatric patients, which is more difficult.
Mutt even goes as far as to say, "I was so glad to see you arrive - because every job should have some perks." Holy hell! That is a bit inappropriate, but the room erupts with laughter again. Mutt tries to do some damage control by explaining that their patients are usually not as friendly, he stammers along until Jeff says, "Dude, stop talking you're gonna hurt yourself". Mutt blushes and I realise that this is probably embarrassing for them too. "Well," I say " I guess we all have a story for Friday night drinks huh?"
Conversation is drowned out by the hairdryers and I am relieved to hear that we are almost done. As visions of the final chapter to this story turn in my head, I picture the horror of this final scene. The hairdryers are turned off and Tom
smiles as he explains, "Next we need to remove the plaster, don't worry you will just feel a little tickle."
Noticing my discomfort he suggests that after they have cut it down the sides, I can remove it behind the screen, if I prefer. If I prefer? Are you serious Tom?
"Yes, I prefer, thanks!" I say, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and we all laugh again.
The little circular saw did tickle but it was most likely the easiest part of the day. Then I went behind the screen to remove it I grabbed a thin cotton gown and covered myself and then passed it over to Tom. As they walked out the room I felt a sense of relief wash over me, thank goodness that's over!
