I am an American living in Switzerland. After falling in love with linguistics during my Anthropology studies I learned German and then Swiss German. I love the languages and dialects of Switzerland.
Ich bin eine Amerikanerin und wohne in der Schweiz. Nachdem ich mich in Linguitik verliebt hatte, während meinem Anthropologiestudium, lernte ich Deutsch und Schweizerdeutsch.Ich liebe die Sprache und Dialekt der Schweiz.
I remember my first CT scan. I’d not eaten anything substantial in 2 months, 1 month or so was because I was ill and a few weeks were because I was in hospital NPO. I was told to drink 14 cups of contrast (fruit punch flavor because I didn’t like fruit punch to begin with and I didn’t want an unpleasant association with a drink that I did like.) My nurse told me to tell her if I suspected impending emesis (it was a children’s hospital and she used more colloquial terms, but I don’t wanna be gross.) I did so, she called the doctor and was told to measure whatever was emitted and then give me a corresponding volume of the contrast. I poured two cups down the drain secretly, but all went well with my test.
My father pushed my wheelchair to radiology and stayed with me every moment until he was shoved out the door for the “could you be pregnant?” question and the administration of rectal contrast.
My first upper GI, my father was there as well. This time I didn’t skimp on the contrast materials. Though it was similar to trying to swallow a partially-filled balloon, i glugged down the barium. I had an ostomy at the time and the cement-like quality became comical when it was emptied into my bag. I felt like I was carrying wet cement on my hip. Between scans, my dad and I walked around the hospital and he kept me laughing. When a little boy walked past the light wall and saw the pictures of my barium-filled j-pouch, he said “it’s like train tracks” and that kept us chuckling for the rest of our stay in the radiology wing.
My first MRI, I was nervous. I wasn’t sure if i would feel claustrophobic or not. My mom came along and brought a trashy magazine for the purpose of distracting me. I did feel a bit scared and alone in the machine, and so to soothe me, my mother read aloud (shouted aloud over the thrumming of the machine) an interview with some celebrity of the moment. The poor dear nearly shouted herself hoarse and I was so grateful for her company.
From then on, my tests were solo. They were less scary and more standard and I’d had the foundation of loving parents getting me through the first go. Now I fall asleep in MRIs, I chug contrast like a college kid with a beer bong. I don't go with my parents, but I have a loving partner who is there for me when the results come in.