Skip to main content

My New Favorite Word: Procedure

The day before yesterday I had my EDG (Esophagogastroduodenoscopy) it wasn't really a bad test as far as tests go. The worst part is getting to the point where you actually go in and take the test. They give you what they call twilight anesthesia, you're out enough that you don't give a rip that they are putting a tube down your throat and not under long enough that they have to keep you for any length of time. I got watched for an hour afterward. You do have to have someone who will drive you to and from. I was fortunate enough to have my sister. We traded favors. She was my driver for my 'procedure' (Lord, forgive me but I crack up using that term as I sound just like my grandmother. I have to have some fun with this getting old and falling apart nonsense) and I drove her to the Lexington airport yesterday. It was a fair trade.

She and I got the giggles in the hospital. I wore a coral colored shirt and it turns out so do the volunteers who walk you to and from waiting rooms and pre-op rooms. My little sister thought that was funny for some reason. I thought if I were a volunteer I would be running the place a whole lot better. For one thing the surgery waiting room would have a bathroom in it, it wouldn't be across the hall where if you step out to use it, you upset the volunteers who think you ran out on your procedure. I guess volunteers didn't have any part of that. Anyway, they took me in and made me answer all the same questions they had asked me at the 7 previous check stops. Name, date of birth, chief complaint, allergies etc. The nurse said I was a fun patient, I told her I wasn't stupid. I wanted her to like me. She told me I would be surprised at how some people treat nurses and then the anesthesiologist came to get me to sign papers. He asked me if I had any questions, I said, "Are you available for parties?" The nurse laughed and said, "I told you she was fun."

Then they went to wheel me away to the next holding place and this time another anesthesiologist came to chat. He went through everything again. He was more fun the first guy. As he and the nurse wheeled me down the hall to the OR I said in a low voice, "What if I start yelling, 'No! I change my mind! Take me back! I will be good!'" as we passed all the other patients-in-waiting on their gurneys in their open stalls. Instead of begging me not to this young man chimed in, "It didn't happen like this last time! Help me!" The nurse chastised us and said, " You're not nervous at all, are you?" I wasn't. I never have been. God ordains how many breaths I take and no matter the competence level of the doctors, they don't get to change that.

It only took 10-20 minutes for the doctor to have a look and take some biopsies. He told me once he thought I was coherent that he did find some polyps, which he removed. He found some inflammation in my stomach and what looks like it could be Barrett's Esophagus. He didn't find cancer or Crohn's disease, which were the two biggies I was hoping to avoid. So in three weeks I go and find out the results of the biopsies and see what to do to get rid of this pain in my guts. Meanwhile, my regular doctor has told me my blood tests came back abnormal for connective tissue diseases and she's referring me to a rheumatologist. So the hunt is still on to find out why I am so miserable physically.

I want my three readers to know I am not miserable spiritually. I am tired of being exhausted, I went to bed at 9:30 last night and got up at 5:00 am. I normally go to bed at 11-12:00 and get up the same time. I fed the dogs, sat in my chair for a moment and the next thing I knew it was 9:00 am. I am thinking of napping again and it's only 11:00am. I am tired of not getting things accomplished, but I am hopeful and know that God is in control. Apparently He thinks I need some down time.

I have managed to watch some decent movies, though I tend to have a nap attack part way through the best of them. I watched Unstoppable. I am such a sucker for true stories as long as Oliver Stone doesn't get ahold of them. I have listened to some good sermons. I just don't get to do much else. While I am anxious to find out what is going on so we can manage it, I am not frightened of whatever it is....unless it means giving up coffee and chocolate.

Comments

Victoria said…
Hugs Rozie! Glad you are back on blogger-I need the laughs.

I have had the procedure done-and found out I have acid reflux-which one little daily pill has cured. I pray that they get you fixed up too.

Popular posts from this blog

Spiritual Aphasia aka Senseless Theology

I was recently asked why I read theology and follow theological debates. "It's all just words and opinions." Words. Words on a paper, words on a blog. Words that travel invisibly through our airwaves and our minds. What would our inner monologue consist of without words? Harsh words, gentle words, untrue words, and solid you-can-die-behind them words. They have secret lives in the depths of our souls. They overflow in torrents of grief and joy. They seep out of our character flaws, wearing down the weak convictions that hold them back until they contaminate all those around us. All of us are stained within and without by the raw sewage of unkind words. Our souls are in jeopardy for want of The Word. Jesus Christ. The Gospel. The Good News. Words matter. Doctrine matters. Theology Matters. What you win them with is what you win them to. I study theology because I was lost too long in a world that scrambles truth with its own ideas and preferences. I was fed a diet of tosse

Super Church a song for the Emergent-sy

In the early 70s I was in a youth choir at my church. Our youth pastor was a musician and his way of connecting with us as a group was through the choir and music. Somehow there was an affiliation between him and The Continental Singers, New Hope and Jeremiah People. He was worked with Moishe Rosen of Jews for Jesus too, I think. Are any of these names familiar to you? Though I remember the church fondly I was a profoundly lost and troubled young woman during my years there. That and time have muddled the memories quite a bit. Today I was digging through some old paperwork and one of the books to the musical we did. It's Getting Late For the Great Planet Earth, a folk rock oratorio by Cam Floria. Yes, that's right. Cam Floria put Hal Lindsey to music. There's a lot to laugh about and some to groan about but as I was looking through the songs and remembering, I found this little ditty and I only wish I could sing it for you. Just remember that this is circa 1972 and even th

What if.....

...what if I just need a place to let some words spill out? What if they spill out in bouquets of bright colors and pleasing scents but their frames are made of snakes and lies? Will you the reader be able to tell? Will it matter? When words smell like lilacs and honeysuckle do you care what lies beneath them? Perfumed syllables cover the stench of hope's decay. A violet or two will fool most surface dwellers, allowing them to pass by quickly and unaware.  Is that what words are supposed to do? What if my aesthetics with words are similar to Morticia Addams' with flowers?  What happens when luscious blooms are discarded?  When the ragged silhouette of thorns is all that remains will you still see the beauty?  Perhaps we'll find out.