So, for reasons unnecessary to disclose (I'm a professional, duh), I witnessed a catheterization today. Of the heart.
And that's about when I wanted to die because, well, I WILL die should I ever have a heart attack, because NO WAY are they inserting THINGS into my arteries while I'm awake. Conscious. Feeling. Oh, no. Not happening.
And I very rightly told this to the cardiologist, who has been doing his job for 35 years and could perform said surgery with his eyes closed and four fingers missing. However, "Oh, no. You will not touch me with a 408-foot pole, Mr. Cardiologist."
Patients need to be kept awake during catheterization because they need to follow commands such as, "Take a deep breath," or, "Hold your breath," or probably in MY case, "Krista, God dammit, quit screaming or you're GOING to die."
Anyway, no. Not for me. Nuh-uh.
So, meanwhile, I'm WATCHING this procedure (because I'm a professional), notebook in hand (because I need to be looking intrigued and also impressed), but really, I just wanted to die. If you KNOW me, you know that my mouth starts to water and I begin vomiting in my mouth a little, and also passing out, at the sight of blood. Or surgery. Or doctors. Needles. The THOUGHT of blood or surgery or needles. I can't even watch surgery on Grey's Anatomy, and come on, that's Patrick Dempsey performing it.
This is not good.
So I'm debating whether I should just lay it all on the table and be like, "Look. I MIGHT pass out, I'm just saying," or just let it happen. I look at computer monitors instead. The wall. My notebook. Breathing. Still breathing. So is the patient, thank God. I begin having unwelcome thoughts of waking up in a hospital bed with intravenous tubes protruding from my arms as they pump saline into my weak ass, and realize, "Hell, at least I'm in a hospital."
So Cardiologist is all maneuvering things around inside Patient's arteries, and I'm all, "This is SO not cool and/or thrilling in the least, and can you PLEASE finish this up, thanks." My mouth begins watering a little, so I start thinking about puppies. And flowers. And the genius who thought, "Why, gosh, let's just have her sit in during a procedure!" F-U-N.
And then, it's over. But then they start sopping up blood from the incision and, Jesus Christ, I have to go through it all again.
I will have you know, I survived. Phew. I know. Very dramatic. And so next time I have a heart attack, because, you know, this happens, like, a lot, how about Do Not Resuscitate? Or at least knock me out before you start inserting things into my arteries. Thanks.