I Was a Human Lab Rat

As I lay on the doctor's table getting punctured, drained, and filled up with various mysterious fluids, I asked myself, how in the hell did I ever get talked into this? Good question!

I suppose I have no one to blame but myself. Along with some friendly strong-arming by my allergist, Dr. Mr. Rogers.

Hold on, hold on, let's back up a bit. You guys remember my writing about my mysterious skin rash? You don't? Here: Necrotic Skin-Eating Disease and Dr. End of the World. Go on. Refresh your memories over my trauma. I'll wait right here.

Okay, well, the crazy thing is after numerous medicines, shots, and wild guesses, friendly Dr. Mr. Rogers finally--FINALLY--happened upon some shots that cleared me up! After several years of suffering, I actually enjoyed two months of blissful non-itchiness! Huzzah! (I can just imagine the non-vaxxers having fits over what I went through. "Gimme muh freedumbs!")

And then--as life always seems to have a particularly ironically, unfunny way of doing--my life of comfort was swept out from under me.

"Hello," I said upon answering the phone.

"Stuart, it's me, Dr. Mr. Rogers. You know...from the neighborhood? Well, remember how I cured you? I want to uncure you."

Sooooo many crickets. "What?"

"I've been blessed with being granted a test study from big pharma. You'd be a perfect candidate to test this drug out on."

The crickets came out again. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"We'll pay you."

Ka-Ching! Visions of thousands and thousands of dollars danced greedily before me. "Okay!"

So dumb. So, soooooo very dumb.

When I returned to Dr. Mr. Rogers' office, he was clearly excited and nearly cartwheeled out of our brief visit. Then the techs all landed on me. They ripped off my shirt and threw me onto an extremely cold table in a freezing office and attached all sorts of gizmos to my chest.

"Wait...what're we doing?"

"Oh, not much. Just an EKG."

Like that explained it all.

After shivering my way through the first test, the nurse said, "Huh."

I said, "'Huh.' That doesn't sound encouraging."

"Well, it says here you're having a heart attack."

"Wait...what? Wait!"

"Hang on a minute. I'll be back."

So she leaves me having a heart attack in the freezing office. When she comes back, she's got another nurse. "Oh," says nurse number two, "this happens all the time."

"My heart attack happens all the time???"

"You're not having a heart attack. The machine is just...finnicky."

"That's good to know... I guess."

They run another test. Same results. They bring in the nurse practitioner. Wash, rinse, repeat. She says, "Wow. Do you have a heart problem history?"

"No! Not until now!"

She brings in Dr. Mr. Rogers who whacks the machine a couple of times. "There. That oughta do it."

By the time they finally got a reading that "they'd take," there were about  eight people in the small room, and me shivering with my shirt off wondering if I was having a heart attack.

Then it was off to meet the research kid, Darren! Darren's this fresh-faced, young, snappy-talking kid who tries to be cool by calling me "man" all the time. "So, man," he says, "what do you do?"

"You mean when I'm not being strapped to tables?"

"Yeah, man."

"I'm a writer."

Blank stare. No acknowledgement.

"Um...a novelist."

Blinkity-blink. Cone of silence.

"And a part-time realtor."

"Oh, wow, man! Real estate's such a sweet gig, man!"

Kids today. Anyway, it was time to confront Carla, the resident research nurse.

"I'm Carla," she says through her two-pack-a-day voice while trying to jab and stick me with a needle to draw blood. "I don't like your veins."

After immediately bruising up one arm, causing a world of pain, she decides to switch to the other arm with not much success. I'm watching the needle stick out of my arm with no blood forthcoming. "Hm. Let's go back to the other arm. I really don't like your veins."

"They don't like you much either!"

By the time Carla was finished, I looked like a green and brown patchwork monster.

Then I had to pee in a cup. Now, I don't know about you guys but this is one of my least favorite things to do in the world. I'm never able to urinate on demand. And, of course, the cup is always this tiny little thing. How in the world do you stop the flow without making a mess? It must take a very special talent to master peeing into a cup. Maybe I'd better practice.

Anyway, the actual drug administration hasn't even begun yet. Even more frightening, it's not a shot like I first thought, but an infusion. Which kinda terrifies me. Especially with Carla brandishing the I.V.

And the pay sucks.

But I'll keep you guys posted on my new adventures in being a human lab rat, you lucky readers.

Speaking of lucky readers, why not mosey on over to my Amazon book page and have a look-see. Something for everyone (probably not, but I've gotta try!)!