Sometimes Things Don’t Go As Expected – And Sometimes They Do

The first time I went there, my GPS sent me in the wrong direction, making me ten minutes late, increasing my anxiety level even more.  Adding insult to injury, I blew past valet parking and had to turn around on a side street, making me later still. The kind people in the lobby gave me directions to the elevator and I soon made it to the fourth floor. 

It was quiet, a handful of people waiting in the waiting area while I checked in on an iPad. It was a relief to take my seat and play around with my iPad, killing time reading email, blog posts, and playing a little Scrabble.  After a brief wait, I was ushered into the changing room and asked to remove everything from the waist up and put on a gown.  It was a lovely shade of magenta, and I looked quite fetching as I did my best to wrap it around me and get the strings tied. 

More waiting and then it was time to drape my body around a giant machine while a tender part of my anatomy was squeezed into an impossibly thin pancake.  As the technician walked me back to my seat, she said not to worry if she called me and asked me to step into an office.  Looking her straight in the eye, I said, “Oh, I am going to freak out!”  Her eyes got wide and I smiled and assured her that I was just joking.

Another image was needed so again I endured cold plastic and lots of pressure. Instead of going to the waiting area, I sat in the radiology room waiting for the doctor to look at the new image.  When she came out, she said that she was recommending a biopsy.  Gee, didn’t really think that was going to happen . . . 

A very kind nurse walked me through what was going to happen, complete with a thirty-nine page, eight and a half by eleven inch booklet, and a tour of the facility, including the room where the procedure would take place.  The whole thing sounded so delightful, I naturally wanted to do it as soon as possible.  But alas, it had to wait nearly a week to happen as I have a very busy schedule.

Surprisingly, I slept well the night before and got a solid six hours of work in before I headed across town for the procedure.  This time there was no getting lost or waylaid and I made it there with time to spare.  I barely had time to check email before I was ushered into a curtained off room with the same instructions as my previous visit.  Once that was taken care of, the best thing happened.  They brought me a blanket fresh from the warmer.  Mmm, heaven!

All too soon it was time to go to the procedure room and ask the doctor a few questions. I climbed up the steps, feeling like a lamb going to slaughter.  Or maybe just like a woman having a procedure that she doesn’t really want to have. The table is designed for the patient to lay on their stomach and allow a certain body part to drop down through a conveniently located hole.  Then it was time for more squishing.  And the poking and prodding, though thankfully the first poke was a shot of lidocaine.  Ahhh, that’s better!

Finally, it was done and I unfolded myself from the table after lying completely still for over a half hour.  They said I did a great job despite the length of the procedure and I continued to get my limbs moving again.  After a time in the recovery area I’m briefed on my after care instructions.  It took a while for the valet to bring out my car, but soon I headed out into rush hour traffic, wanting to get home before the anesthesia wore off.  Everyone I met here was so kind and empathetic, doctors, nurses, technicians, valets, everyone, yet I’m hoping that I will never see any of them again as long as I live.

It was quiet when I got home so I popped my little ice packs into the freezer, put my robe on over my clothes, and hunkered down under the covers.  A toasty blanket would have been nice, but I settled for letting Hannah lay on the bed with me.  Curiosity got the best of me and I searched YouTube for a video on vacuum-assisted biopsy.  Bad idea, very bad idea. There’s no way to unsee what was there before I clicked the window closed. 

The kids and grandkids got home and I was greeted with the healing powers of Chipotle.  They also brought me some dark chocolate and I felt very loved and cared for.  Before long, I tucked myself back into bed.  Whether it was bravery, stupidity, or just being too tired to get up again, I skipped the acetaminophen.  When I woke again at four am, I was just a little sore, nothing that tucking a fresh icepack under my pajamas didn’t cure. 

The next day I was off to work like nothing happened except that my son and the people at Hannah’s daycare needed to help me get her in and out of the yard and car.  She can be a little – rambunctious – and getting my arm jerked if she should happen to see a squirrel or something else of interest seemed like a really bad idea.  The lab calls before noon – my sample is benign and as expected, I am perfectly healthy. 

Not enough time has passed to process all my feelings about what has transpired.  As is so often the case, regardless of what is happening for me personally, life continues at it’s normal breakneck pace.  One thing I do know is this – without good health, nothing else really matters.

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