Talking is my go to stress reliever. My pressure valve.
Anytime I’m in a tense situation I talk. (Okay, even when I’m not. Shut up!)
When I was a baby, family lore has it my father couldn’t wait until I learned to talk. When I did he was said to comment, “Doesn’t she ever shut up?”
If you look at any of my childhood report cards there is ALWAYS a comment on my being a pleasant enough child but ‘talks too much’.
When a new boy from Greece, who didn’t speak any English, came into our class the teacher said, “Put him next to Robin. It’ll be the fastest way for him to learn.”
I talked before they knocked me out for my tonsillectomy and woke up still talking.
I talked through my entire amniocentesis.
I talked …..well, you get the idea.
So when they told me I COULDN’T talk during the biopsy I was all, “Wait…..WHAT?”
That’s right, can’t talk. You need to lie perfectly still.
The reason I talk is so I don’t have to think about what’s going on. If I have to keep stringing words together I can’t ponder the consequences of what’s happening.
I know...denial is my middle name!
So I told the doctor and the nurse to keep up a running commentary during the procedure. I didn’t care what they talked about..…the weather, politics, music, religion, men.
It didn’t matter.
Turns out it works almost as well as when I’m doing the talking.
I don’t think the Xanax had anything to do with it…….