It has often been said that a picture is worth a thousand words, but this morning I questioned the validity of that statement after I had recovered my jaw from the floor of a medical "imaging centre".
The morning had started off pleasantly enough -- got up a bit earlier than usual, had a shower and drove to have an MRI scan of my right knee. You know, just your average morning.
I was pleasantly surprised by the posh furniture, unhospital-like (helpful) signage and pleasant hotel-esque reception desk. "How lovely! How does this hospital manage to be so lovely?" I gushed naively as I filled out the required paperwork and admired the futuristic clipboard (the kind that would have cost $50 at some designer clipboard store).
Apart from being guided into a giant buzzing, banging, vibrating, radioactive MRI machine, it was quite an agreeable way to spend the morning. I even got handed some headphones to listen to seven minutes of radio while I waited for the machine to do its thing.
The moment when it all came tumbling to a horrible end was when the receptionist -- looking like a professional makeup artist -- smiled sweetly and said something evil like:
"Forty-five minutes sitting in our designer reception area, three minutes using our designer clipboard and seven minutes in our designer MRI machine? That comes to $467.00 thank you. If you're not using your soul; I'll take that too."
In actual fact, I can't vouch for that. I wasn't really listening to her until the dollar signs popped out of her mouth and smacked me in the face. I'm not sure whether I managed to successfully mask my horror - I may have been too busy fumbling for my credit card and straining to stop my heart from dropping out of the closest cavity -- my nostrils? Not sure.
I had my scan at 7:50am, it is now almost 3pm and I'm still not over it. $467 for seven minutes?! That's almost $67.00 a minute! Outrageous! If that's what you're paying for 1000 words you're getting ripped off.
Anyway, this unexpected expense of course means that the MRI image has now become the most valuable picture of myself that I own and, subsequently, will have to replace the drunk Brazilian Sydney Harbour Cruise photo* in the prime bookshelf spot. Here's hoping that it got a good angle of my knee. It would be really tragic if it makes me look fat.
The morning had started off pleasantly enough -- got up a bit earlier than usual, had a shower and drove to have an MRI scan of my right knee. You know, just your average morning.
I was pleasantly surprised by the posh furniture, unhospital-like (helpful) signage and pleasant hotel-esque reception desk. "How lovely! How does this hospital manage to be so lovely?" I gushed naively as I filled out the required paperwork and admired the futuristic clipboard (the kind that would have cost $50 at some designer clipboard store).
Apart from being guided into a giant buzzing, banging, vibrating, radioactive MRI machine, it was quite an agreeable way to spend the morning. I even got handed some headphones to listen to seven minutes of radio while I waited for the machine to do its thing.
The moment when it all came tumbling to a horrible end was when the receptionist -- looking like a professional makeup artist -- smiled sweetly and said something evil like:
"Forty-five minutes sitting in our designer reception area, three minutes using our designer clipboard and seven minutes in our designer MRI machine? That comes to $467.00 thank you. If you're not using your soul; I'll take that too."
In actual fact, I can't vouch for that. I wasn't really listening to her until the dollar signs popped out of her mouth and smacked me in the face. I'm not sure whether I managed to successfully mask my horror - I may have been too busy fumbling for my credit card and straining to stop my heart from dropping out of the closest cavity -- my nostrils? Not sure.
I had my scan at 7:50am, it is now almost 3pm and I'm still not over it. $467 for seven minutes?! That's almost $67.00 a minute! Outrageous! If that's what you're paying for 1000 words you're getting ripped off.
Anyway, this unexpected expense of course means that the MRI image has now become the most valuable picture of myself that I own and, subsequently, will have to replace the drunk Brazilian Sydney Harbour Cruise photo* in the prime bookshelf spot. Here's hoping that it got a good angle of my knee. It would be really tragic if it makes me look fat.
.
*It was my parents' wedding anniversary, there were a lot of cocktails going around and at some point that nobody can quite recall, we thought it would be a great idea to pay a photographer $30 or so dollars to take a very average picture. It gets the prime bookshelf spot because we spent $30 on it, damn it!
3 comments:
BAHAHA! Oh love, tell me about it. I just got back from the gyno - $135 for 9 minutes (luckily she's nice, and it's all claimable) but then I get told about the $500 hospital excess and that I'll be 'significantly' out of pocket for the anesthetist. Significantly?! What, exactly, does that mean? And I don't even get a photo....
We're in the wrong profession! We should have studied to be MRI machines or gynos - they make a bucket of money. I was just reading your lunch blog and it seems that even being a sandwich (though more short lived) is more profitable than being a writer.
I think "significantly" is a flux condition of your monetary status that fits somewhere between not being able to afford haircuts or shampoo until 2036 and having to sell your house, your entire wardrobe and your hair.
Oh and you should totally demand a photo. Although it might be one for the private drawer...
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