I’m Glad It’s Over

Asked the same litany of questions by different medical personnel. The pre-surgical nurse, the anesthesiologist, the admissions clerk. It had to be a test. Would I slip-up and give inconsistent answers?

“Have you had any surgeries before?”

“Only, if you count my tonsillectomy 57 years ago.”

“I don’t remember much about it, after all these years.”

“I can tell, there aren’t many entries on your medical records,” The charge nurse commented.

“Yes, I try to avoid invasive medical procedures–be they from space aliens or medical doctors,” I answered.

“You won’t feel a thing, once the anesthetic takes hold. It will be like going to sleep.”

I thought they would never find a vein to hook up the IV. Of course I had to wear one of those “fashionable” medical gowns, open in the back. Luckily, I was lying down covered with a blanket.

In the operating room, I waited while the staff kibitzed, and time stood still–at least it seemed that way.

An older man with gray hair came in and things got underway. It was my doctor. I didn’t have my glasses on, recognized him when he came closer.

“Lie on your left side,” Ordered the surgical nurse. “The anesthetic may burn when it enters your IV.”

That was definitely an understatement. I had a round plastic mouthpiece for the procedure.

“That hurt bad,” I attempted to communicate to the nurse.  “Don’t worry, soon the pain will go away.”

What a refreshing nap. I wanted to continue sleeping. The fog in my befuddled head lifted.  There was no one around. This wasn’t the operating room.  Somebody had some explaining to do.

It was the recovery room. The process was over. For having had an upper GI, I was none the worse for wear–except for a swollen lower lip.  Which is black and blue today.

Samples taken for biopsy will take a few days for analysis.  I was sent home with the doctor’s report, complete with color pictures of the inside of my stomach.  Not something I cared to share with friends.

Not Another Tale Of Neglect

I usually write posts in longhand first, then continuously revise until satisfied. I’m rarely satisfied. Writing with a sprained left thumb has been a challenge. I’m a lefty.

It has taken me a long time to admit, that I could have sleep apnea. My wife has chided me for years to get checked out. The preliminary steps were made last Friday.

I visited a sleep clinic for evaluation and treatment. Of course, when it comes to doctors and clinics, sometimes one thing leads to another. First, this week, I have to have upper GI X-Rays done.

After approvals from insurance, Medicare, and those concerned, then I will have a sleep study done. Which involves having various electronic sensors hooked up, to be monitored as I sleep.

The sleep clinic’s, sleep study bedrooms, were just like those at a hotel, claimed the staff. I’m doing this out of concern for my health. Although, I have doubts as to how much quality sleep, I will get in a strange bed, in an unfamiliar location, hooked up to dozens of monitors.