Bad Brains

It was one of those stretches of time. We've all experienced them-a day, a week, or in this case a couple of months, when everything comes together at once (and not in a good way, either).

Painters were coming every weekend, requiring that my apartment be dismantled room by room. A manuscript needed to be wrapped up, and quick. There were some uncomfortable goings-on at the office. I received an oddly threatening court summons. And there were the doctors.

Lots and lots of doctors. A parade of doctors. A veritable marathon of doctors.

It wasn't supposed to be that way; just a simple trip to my neurologist with a minor complaint about the dissolution of my memory. A quick once-over, he shrugs, and I'm on my way. That's how it usually happens. But by the time I left his office, he was not only scheduling a slew of new brain tests, he was setting me up with a cardiologist as well. And the cardiologist had a few ideas of his own.

It all snowballed too quickly, until I had at least two or three doctor appointments awaiting me every week for the next three months. At least that's where I stand now-to date I haven't received any results, so I'm still not breathing quite easily. Part of me wants to believe it's all just some new HMO scam. The other part doesn't want to think about it at all. A third part's fairly curious, but resigned. While I'm in the midst of it, here's a blurry snapshot from a recent appointment.

In early May, the neurologist sent me to the hospital for an EEG. I'd had an EEG there before, maybe two or three years ago, and was pleasantly surprised. Most EEG techs I've met are shrill and angry people, but the woman running the show at this place was gentle and personable.

When Morgan and I found our way up to the seventh floor this time, I found that the kind one was gone, replaced with a tall Russian woman who brusquely told us to sit in the waiting hall (that's what it was-a hall with a couple chairs) while she finished her lunch.

"Okay," I said, and we went and sat. Half an hour later, when the EEG lady led us into the room where the test would take place and sat me down, I noticed a strange look on Morgan's face just before she stepped back outside to wait.

The door closed, and I reclined in a dentist's chair staring at the wall. That's when I heard the voice behind me.

"What's he doing in here?"

It wasn't the Russian EEG tech, but another woman. What sounded like a large African- American woman. One who was pissed.

The EEG lady didn't answer her question. I continued staring at the wall.

"Why do I need this test, anyway?" the angry woman asked.

"I can't tell you."

"Why can't you tell me?"

"Because I don't know. Your doctor knows. He can tell you. I just run the test."

"I'm uncomfortable."

"Look," the Russian said, mildly exasperated, "no one's forcing you to do this. You don't want to, you don't have to."

Then-and strangely only then-did it become clear. I was in the room with someone who was getting an EEG at the same time I was.

This was very odd. Part of taking a successful EEG is making sure that the subject is as relaxed as possible, but that clearly wasn't in the cards here.

"My back hurts," the woman behind me whined. "How long is this going to take?" And so forth.

I could sense that the EEG lady was getting fed up, even as she was attaching some 20 electrodes to my scalp. I still didn't know why this other patient and I were both in there at the same time until the EEG lady snapped.

"Look," she told the woman, "He was here first. He's been waiting. But you just walked in here, and you went first, so you should be happy."

That shut her up for a bit. Unfortunately, the EEG lady, clearly rattled by her own outburst, tripped while walking behind me, ripping all the wires off my head with a single swoop.

"You see?" she barked at the woman again, "he was here first, but I haven't even gotten started with him yet!"

"Let me out of here!"

"Lie down!"

"My back hurts!"

"Lie down!"

Later, Morgan would tell me that she was afraid from the looks of her that the woman was going to attack someone. I remained as silent as possible throughout all this, merely rolling my eyes and waiting for the clang of metal.

Another two or three minutes of silence passed before she piped up again. "How much longer do I got?"

"About five minutes."

The woman sighed heavily. "My back hurts," she mumbled. I continued staring at the wall.

Eventually she was finished. The electrodes were removed from her head, and a pair of orderlies wheeled her out of the room. The minute the door closed this time, the EEG lady turned to me and sighed, "Some people are just not very cooperative."

Once I was re-hooked up and the test was actually underway, she sat down at a desk behind me, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

"Hello?" she said. "Dr. Emberson? This is Natasha?yes, fine, fine?I was wondering if you might have any openings there?"

Yes, the woman who was attaching electrodes and reading my brain waves was on the phone, looking for another job.

This was no more comforting than having the big crazy lady threatening to go off at any minute behind me. Meanwhile, as she sought employment, another woman entered the room and got on another phone. This one revealed herself to be a hospital public relations representative in the midst of some spin control.

"Look," she said to whoever was on the line (I presume it was some administrator), "the family's very upset, and they're getting really vocal. You're gonna have to meet with them or something. Soon."

The family in question, it seems, couldn't understand why an EEG couldn't be scheduled for a family member any earlier than the following week.

"I know," the woman said. "It's hard to explain it to them. I know it's difficult to have a family member die so prematurely and everything, but-" There was another pause. "He was 15, yeah. But I've been trying to tell them that one more test isn't going to help anything-the kid is brain dead!"