Subject: Liver Biopsy?  A Piece of Cake!
From: mark@markbirtles.demon.co.uk (Mark Birtles)
Newsgroups: alt.support.skin-diseases.psoriasis
Date: Mon, 23 Feb 1998 11:54:55 GMT

On Sun, 22 Feb 1998  Tina wrote:

>When I was at my derm last week, he told me it was time to have a liver
>biopsy done as I was past the 1000 mg level of Methotrexate.  Can anyone
>tell me what to expect?  My derm does not do this himself, he has
>referred me to a specialist who will do this in day sugery of the local
>hospital.  My appt with the specialist is not until April 27th and then
>probably 6 weeks to wait to get into the hospital.
>Can anyone give my any info so I don't have to "wonder" until April?
>
>Thanks
>Tina


Wonder no longer, Tina. I shall put your mind at rest.

Do not worry, modern medical methods mean that the procedure is not
the agonising, gore-splattered, casual butchery it was once. Although
you probably wouldn't want to take it up as a hobby, today's method
turns the whole experience into a fun day out.

First, you will be greeted in the waiting room by Ygor, a cackling
hunchbacked dwarf. He is an obsequious, dribbling oaf, but you can
rest easy that he has been highly trained in low cunning. Fawning and
loping, Ygor will take you by the hand and lead you down damp,
lichen-covered stone steps into a subterranean cavern.  

You will notice a huge marble slab set on a corinthian plinth in the
centre of the room. Seated restlessly in a circle around the slab will
be the audience, a ragbag collection of medical students, journalists,
close friends of the nurses, abbatoir-workers and Bob and Sally from
Des Moines who won a competition. A girl in spangly tights and a
pill-box hat will be selling popcorn. As soon as the crowd sees you,
the hum of conversation and intermittent yelping will die away and
Ygor will guide you to the slab in silence.

Suddenly, the procedure begins: with a speed that belies his twisted,
frog-like stature, Ygor will leap upon you, rip off your clothes with
his pointy teeth, and hurl you, spreadeagled, on to the marble slab.
Each of your limbs will be tethered to a corner of the slab with
massive iron chains, for it is vital you remain still throughout. No
medication can be given, for it may contaminate the liver, so Ygor
will provide you with a stout wooden baton to clench between your
teeth in case of intense pain.

The preparations complete, Ygor retreats backwards into the crowd,
bowing and gibbering like the professional retard he is.  The
atmosphere will grow tense. After what seems like an eternity, the
iron door will crash open, the room will be rent in twain by forked,
sulphurous lightning and a deafening clap of thunder will shake the
walls. The crowd will gasp, for it will be he, the doctor, in his
black frock-coat and swirling velvet cape, clutching his human-hide
bag, making his entrance.

Magnificently imposing, the doctor, twirling his waxed moustache, will
stride to your slab. "Now then, my pretty," he will hiss, "You are in
my power! Bwahahahahahah!" With a gesture, he will snap open his bag
and remove a bulging pouch. Theatrically, he will turn to the crowd
and hoist the pouch aloft. "See!" he will cry, "Behold! The Gnawer of
Organs!" "Ooooooh!" the crowd will reply, their eyes wide in wonder.

The doctor will reach into the pouch and remove Norman, the surgical
hamster. Norman's little eyes will be glittering and his legs will be
beating the air. Carefully, the doctor will place Norman on your
stomach. His feet will feel hard and cold on your flesh and you will
notice two long, sharp teeth glinting in the flickering torchlight.

The doctor will stand back and let the tension build. Suddenly, he
will bark the single command, "FETCH!" and Norman will go to work,
gnawing through your body. Blood and small shreds of tissue and muscle
will spray into the air in a fine red mist. The crowd will go wild,
screaming encouragement and whooping with delight. "Offal, offal,
offal!" they will chant. Soon, Norman's furry little backside will
vanish into your body-cavity and the crowd will grow silent again.

Inside you, Norman will be navigating with the help of a little
fold-out map and he will eventually reach your liver. Scraping off a
thin liver sliver with his teeth, he will carefully place it into a
tiny rucksack strapped to his belly. Then, having carved his initials
on to your kidney for posterity, he will begin his journey back. As
his head reappears from the gaping hole in your stomach, thunderous
applause will break out.  Grinning, the doctor will step forward and
reclaim Norman and his bloody prize. "Ygor!" he will snap, "The
wound!"  Ygor will limp up to you and roughly slap a filthy compound
of mud and straw on to your stomach, sealing the hole. The audience
will be unable to contain themselves: Bob and Sally will be standing
on their chairs, holding whirring camcorders and yelling their
appreciation.

With a final swirl of his cape, the doctor will spin on his heels and,
as thunder cracks once more, he will stride away, cuffing Ygor as he
passes. The procedure is complete. 

With a grunt, Ygor will throw you over his gnarled shoulder, struggle
back up the stone steps and stagger out through the hospital doors,
where he will drop you, naked and bloody, into the gutter. He will
offer a parting snarl, spit on your head for luck and vanish back into
the bowels of the clinic.

So there you have it. At least, this is the procedure in Britain if
you avail yourself of the outstanding National Health Service, so I
expect it will be the same in your fine but doomed country. April need
hold no fear for you.

And to conclude, let me reassure you that a friend of mine had a liver
biopsy a few months ago and it didn't hurt me one little bit.

Be of good cheer.