Nerve Conduction tests

I know the scientific amongst you will correct what I am about to say but this is my view as an uninitiated patient.

This wwas last February and I had left home in the dark and caught a train up to St Pancras to present myself more than on time at Queen Square (UCHL Neurology).  I was really impressed with all the brilliant information I had to get me there making allowance for disabilities various and even with photos to assure you that you were in the right place.  So I sat down and waited.  No receptionist, no one to register with just a room with lots of chairs all round it and an empty desk.   Was I in the right place?  No one to ask – not even next door..  or next door to that.  And bearing in mind it’s first come first served I didn’t want to lose my place.  Then another couple wandered in (patient and friend), then another.  Then a nurse(?) came in and just led them away followed by another who said hello and checked my name and disappeared as quietly as she had appeared.  So I was in the right place.  About 30 minutes later a different person, a young man with nothing “medical looking” about him asked me to join him in a room the other side of the corridor.  He had on some sort of overall, but that was it:  I mean he had clothes on!  But nothing professional about him. No stethescope round his neck (are they still used?) but a tape measure and cold hands.  The room was cold and bleak and I had to sit at a very awkward angle holding my arm just – so – and without any explanation he started to attach different coloured wires to my arm with useless strips that were supposed to stick and when he positioned them he offered up the tape measure really randomly before deciding where to stick the next wire.  There appeared to be no need for accuracy and I was mystified and appalled at the gung ho approach.  I asked a few questions – including his name as a name tag was absent – and got the distinct impression he was trying to concentrate and it was better if I shut up.  So I did.  Then he turned the machine on;  swivelled some knobs, flicked some buttons and turned some dials.  The he scratched his head, wiggled some wires (God, I HATE wires), rubbed his nose, adjusted his glasses and swivelled the knobs again.  “I’m sorry” he said, this machine appears not to be working.  We shall have to move to another (cold) room.  So the knitting of red, blue and green wires were scrunched up (the sailors amongst you would be horrified) and he leapt to the door and beckoned me to follow.  Having gathered my coat, gloves, hat, bag, book and handkerchief I trotted, lamely, behind him into the third cold room.  (The first one was the reception area).  The same performance was repeated but apparently the machine was working.  When I asked about the dial readings (trying desperately to work out what he was doing) I again got a grunt and a murmur and I got the distinct impression in was best not to ruin his concentration.  I have to say there was absolutely no pain involved just a lot of discomfort because of lack of thought or preparation.  This apparently was testing Evoked Potentials.  I then had to wait for the next set of tests and you will be relieved of having to read any more as my session in the hyperbaric chamber has come to an end and I must now get home to get ready for a wedding!  And I’m trying very hard to ignore Monty (Python).