As someone who doesn't normally get cold, it is really upsetting to be cold deep into your bones. When you finally beg for a blanket, the heated one they bring to you has to feel like what heaven is--nestled in love and warmth, and grateful to not just feel sterile cold around you--that smells off...
The guys working on the ducts make so much noise you rethink every time you've rolled your eyes at spy movies where the protagonist crawls through huge air vents. It sounds like there is a small pygmie village in the walls.
Despite trying to keep a good attitude, you've been frozen, contorted, startled, ignored, and ordered about for four hours, and it is starting to wear thin. And despite calming music playing on a loop, being in the basement is killing your battery life, and all you want is for them to come check your license, so you can drink down a large radioactive dose of iodine.
Side note: magazines called Bird and Bloom and Opera Digest are real things! Gas Engine magazine has a gorgeous masthead.
And you finally drink down your dose, so a nice tech named Mike can tell you it is so late today, you have to wait two more hours before drinking anything (or eating) despite the fact that you haven't really eaten most of yesterday and all of today, and then the doctor tells you you have to wait yet another day for cheese, and oddly that is the point where you want to scream that it is all too much and you cannot take it anymore!
But you let Mike the tech run you over with a Geiger counter and "escort you from the premises," and it is all over, at least until next Wednesday when you have to do it again.
Sigh... I wish I weren't so cold--hospitals should stock complimentary snuggies.
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