Pretending I'm of Tougher Stock and the First Walk

Surgery is done and recovery on its way. Things unfolded in a mostly uneventful fashion. There was an amusing anesthesiologist who asserted that native Pacific Northwesterners, of which I'm one, are wimps especially compared to Midwesterners and Southerners. He suggested that I pretend that I was a blue-collar worker who lived at high altitude and was exposed to lots of sun and I'd be fine! This of course was after he read my chart and saw my multitude of health woes.

Medical Trifecta Update and Surgeon Expectations

I'm mentally preparing for thyroid surgery next week. Am happy to report that all those needle sticks didn't hit anything that looked like cancer -- so, it's looking very good! Please send some good thoughts my way on October 20th!

So now I'm just thinking about surgery, expectations and my encounters with surgeons. Aside from one many years ago who was downright nasty, I've found most have a forthright confidence that is reassuring. Of course, the confidence is bordering on arrogance; that's ok. They are going to be performing a bold and audacious act on my body. Although generally appearing open to patient questions, I've noticed they most certainly have their spiel tightly crafted, are the alpha in the conversation and maintain their ground. I spent ten minutes yesterday trying to talk my surgeon into something. I was persistent and had the backing of another doc she respects but she repeatedly, logically and nicely slammed me to the ground. I think I thanked her. She's good.

The Domino Cascade of the Tough Decisions

Working, daily living, driving, stairs no stairs.

How do the tough decisions get made?

The descent is gradual speckled with hopes,

Those often illusive and quite frequently betrayed.

My cocoon space from the world is simple
But provides comfort and security.

Yet I wonder if the cocoon will be there

If the dominoes tumble in uncertainty.

Days turn into weeks and weeks into months.

I continue as if all will be fine.

Telling myself I'm adapting to a new normal,

That life will regain rhythm and soon fall into line.

Yet work days turn more demanding and

Ever more exhausting to navigate.

I wonder if this existence is denial or the

acceptance I assert attempting to create?

Where is the line between worry and planning?

How do the tough decisions get made?

Life has been trimmed to a postage stamp,

There's not much left to subject to the blade.

So plan, mull and react to the fine print.

Only four years on the disability policy?!

Will the dominoes cascade in

An orderly line or a daunting pile of debris?

However, again I engage in yet another hope

That this latest surgery might bring some relief.

Not naively denying the probable but

Realistically hoping for a bit of reprieve.

Space to be used to live the new normal

While planning for the unpredictable in life.

So when the tough decisions are finally made

The cascade they trigger might resemble a line.

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It's not all rough.  Some pretty decent views in my town this time of year...even the spawned-out salmon...some nourishment for the soul.

Not Dead Yet!

Ten needle sticks in the neck later and I'm done with that! I keep thinking that with all my medical adventures I'll start becoming sturdier. You know -- craniotomy, staples in the head, lumbar puncture, nerve conduction studies/EMGs, previous needle biopsy in the neck. But sadly the opposite appears to be happening. I'm usually reduced to a wimpy overtly anxious patient these days for procedures. Everyone involved today was super and no one told me to buck up although they likely thought it.

The Radiologist was late. The guy in charge of the lab samples said to the ultrasound tech, "So where is the Pathologist?" She quickly corrected him, "You mean the Radiologist?" He smiled looking at me and said, "Oh yeah, you're not dead yet. Sorry, I'm used to dealing with Pathologists!"

Yep, still among the living and glad to be!

Receptionists and Raccoons

I've been following up on the hushed-tones somber appointment from a while back. It had been suggested that I call the ENT's office as the treatment plan might need modification. Upon calling the ENT's office, one would have thought I was trying to sell aluminum siding. I convinced the young unfriendly that as a surgical patient I was indeed worthy of leaving a message for the doctor.

I was prematurely assured when the nurse called the next day. Yep, the doc wanted me to have a needle biopsy with a specific radiologist prior to my scheduled surgery and they would take care of arranging that. Sweet, we're on track I thought. Somehow many phone calls later, I was in charge of this scheduling task with the Radiology department at the hospital. How'd that happen -- when did I let my guard down?

My phone call to the Radiology department was long and complicated with disconnections and menu confusion. When requesting assistance from the receptionist, she behaved as if I was attempting to sneak into the Fair without paying. She was really ticked off when I called back after being disconnected after ten minutes on hold (she was upset?). I ended up with an appointment after my surgery date. I took it just in case.

After this phone call, I just stared at the full page of notes documenting each of many, many phone calls over days and I still didn't have the right things scheduled for this whole maybe cancer and prep for surgery thing. Disappointed isn't the right word for how I felt. And, most of these phone calls were navigated from the phone booth at work. I needed to return to job-related dilemmas.

I conveyed the state of disorder in these appointments and scheduling attempts to the doc's office and received more promises of checking with the doc and getting back to me -- similar to those uttered several times previously. Exhausted and more than angry, I let it sit for a while. I had attempted to be very assertive all along the way. It clearly wasn't working. I decided to dust off the bitch boots and let it rip. I did. In one day my pre-surgery appointments were straightened out for me and I was the recipient of repeated apologies.

This makes me sad. I'm sick, and worried about my future. I don't have extra energy to spare. And, I really don't want to be channeling this kind of energy. It reminds me of babysitting children who are accustomed to parents yelling at them -- it takes a lot to get them to pay attention.

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Yesterday my pal Diane and I walked to the creek where the salmon are spawning, and dying. A wickedly fat raccoon that appeared capable of hauling off small children waddled down to the creek. He bypassed one dead salmon and headed to another one on a rock bar in the middle of the creek. Ignoring the exposed meat, he ripped open the stomach and started raking for the eggs. Quite a sight -- we were lucky to see that.