I beepity beeped halfway through DC today.
Oh, I thought I was just too poised when I sat down on the train. I mean, I got a reprieve last night and was allowed to remove my IV. And I’ve figured out how to hide the pump under my clothes so that it’s barely noticeable.
I stepped out of the house feeling almost normal.
Cute maternity dress?
iPhone communiques with the boss? Check!
Plan to nab a nausea friendly breakfast and lunch at Union Station?
Then the beeping started.
At first, I thought the sound was typical train background noise.
But it just kept going.
And Rhode Island.
People were starting to look around, check their phones and iPads.
I had a sinking feeling I knew what it was.
The friggin zofran pump gone awry.
You see, the pump is a fickle and super pricey machine that doesn’t like to be jostled, get damp, or tampered with in any non programmed way.
My cute dress with its stylish buckle wasn’t in the program. And now something had dislodged and I beeped through subway stops.
Through the crowd at Union Station.
In line at the deli.
Down the sidewalk past the homeless guy who stopped rambling long enough to stare at me as if I was crazy.
In the lobby of my job.
In the elevator with two guys who shifted uncomfortably.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I finally made it to the restroom and checked the pump and got a digital
“check the syringe” message.
I pulled it out and reloaded.
Finally the darn thing was satisfied.
I smacked the med pump pack back on my back and finally headed to my desk.
But now I was on edge. Would it malfunction again and embarrass the crap out of me?
I jumped at the microwave beep.
Random camera equipment noise.
Somebody’s dying cellphone.
I think I have stomach pump PTSD.
And darn if that pump isn’t beeping again.
At least this beep is my brief reprieve. The syringe is empty and I usually give myself a few hours before I reload it.
Think I’ll tune out of tech tonight.
A nice quiet book sounds like just what the doctor ordered.