Leavitty
by Josie Leavitt
August 26, 2010, page 9.....

There are many things I love about living and working in a small town: the pace, the people, being able to say “hello” to just about everyone. This is a lovely way to live except when you’re having an invasive procedure in a sensitive area at the local hospital.
First let me preface all of this with a giant I’M FINE. Utterly, totally fine, so no one needs to worry when they continue reading.
In May, I was having very specific chest pains. My doctor ordered a stress test. I nervously went to the cardiologist’s office and was greeted by one of my customers who works at the reception desk. My stress test was administered by yet another customer. So far, so good; these friendly faces were great to see and helped me calm down. The test was going great until the chest pain started, promptly followed by a jaw pain. Now, I’m not a cardiologist, but I know enough to know jaw pain isn’t good when it comes to your heart.
The jaw pain returned three days later, and I wound up in the emergency room.
I was greeted at the desk of the ER by someone who has seen my comedy show. Not so funny now. I was admitted to the hospital overnight. Turns out I had to have an angiogram. This is a procedure where a catheter is threaded through your groin into your heart. “To take a look around.” The doctor made it sound so simple.
Things to remember when you go to the hospital: really try to make it a day when you not only shower, but actually shave your legs.
The next morning in the cath lab I knew the nurse who shaved me, and this was somewhat mortifying, as it’s a very private area that gets “prepped” for the procedure. Both the left and the right sides get shaved, “just in case they need to go in on the left.” I asked if they’ve ever gone in on the left, “um, no,” she said. Well, I’m all for symmetry.
Things you don’t think of during your everyday life come up when that much of body is exposed. (Thankfully, there was a modest blue towel drape, “to give you a sense of privacy.”) Honestly, how much privacy can anyone expect when there are ten people in a room threading something through your groin? I have a tattoo on my left leg, which is unseen ten months out of the year until I wear shorts. The panda was a great conversation starter, and I was grateful for it. Another point to remember when going to the ER: moisturize, really your whole body, because you just don’t know who’s going to be looking at what. Nothing’s worse than an ashy panda tattoo.
Suffice it to say, I survived five people that day all looking at my groin to make sure I wasn’t bleeding at the site of the catheter insertion. After a while, I lost all sense of modesty and thought, “Oh, great, here’s yet another customer (does every cardiologist in Vermont shop at the Flying Pig?) looking at me and wanting book recommendations.”
 I got great care and am healthy, and knowing that is worth a little embarrassment.