Tap Into America

Your brain is swimming in fluid. It's the same fluid that runs through your spine. The doctors recommended a spinal tap to check my spinal fluid to make sure there weren't any other tumors floating around that they'd missed. They wanted to have a complete picture of my situation before they did much more.

Up to this point, I knew a helluva lot more about Spinal Tap, the movie, than spinal tap, the procedure. All I knew was that they were supposed to be excruciating. Hooray. Off I went.

I did the usual change into the drafty cotton apron thing and got wheeled around on one of those beds you always see on TV. Everyone I met was very serious and somber. I wasn't expecting Rip Taylor to be hooting and hollering, throwing confetti everywhere as I was wheeled into the room but damn.

Once I was in the room they asked me my name and birthday for about the tenth time and explained the procedure. They'd insert a needle into my spine and withdraw some fluid they could later use to check for cancer cells. Gulp. Okay.

An older doctor in his early sixties came in and introduced himself. I wish I could remember his name because it turns out the man's a maestro when it comes to spinal taps. More on that later.

They asked me to turn over on the bed and hang onto the big steel bars mounted at the end -- the same kind you see in restrooms and other areas for handicapped people. I'd need those to hang onto while they tilted the table to get my spinal fluid. Turns out your spinal fluid's more like corn syrup or tree sap than water -- very viscous and thick. Tilting the table allows the fluid to flow a little faster. Gulp again.

Oh, and if I wanted, I could just look up on this screen at the end of the bed and watch the needle go into my spine. Gulpity-gulp.