This morning, while waiting for Stefano to wake up so we could go for a walk on the beach before the crowds took over, I came upon a bit of online news that explains something that happened to me a few years ago: http://tinyurl.com/m2xf24

Now I know why I screeched a few, er, unladylike words during my second bone marrow biopsy (I have had three in all, and the first two were excruciatingly painful)…in my defense, the person performing the procedure was a medical intern…and I was her guinea pig, though nobody told me that until it was too late to say NO! There was an overseeing doctor, of course, also a woman, who began guiding the intern through the procedure: “do this, do that…no, don’t do it that way.”

As the intern pierced my hip bone with the needle, though, instead of continuing in a calm and reassuring manner, Dr. Nutcase began yelling bloody murder at the trembling intern. Right over my head. Things that a patient should never have to hear: “no, don’t hold the needle like that! Can’t you tell that it’s shaking??? Hold it steady, for crying out loud. And push, darn it, push, no push harder, puuuuuushhhhh!!! Harderrrrr!” (=the equivalent in Italian.)

I remember an initial attempt at humor on my part, something like “oh yeah, please do be steady with that needle, will ya???” As my pain increased, though, I remember moaning: “sorry, guys, but I have to do this…” And then I let out a couple of Italian swear words…similar to “darn it,” nothing too strong, mind you (“ma porca miseriaaaaa!!!”). And I really did feel better. Now I know why…