Thursday this past week were my final tests and meetings before surgery. I didn’t know what to expect and I’m not sure what to make of that fact. Usually the UW Med Center is very prompt and organized about sending phone messages before appointments. And, because heart surgery is a big deal, they send snail mail too. So I received on message on my phone and had two meetings. Wednesday night I told Amy this and she said I should have called.
Everyone is nervous. Everyone I talk to show and expresses this concern in different ways. I know people care or they wouldn’t get so emotional about it. I have, over the course of my life, learned to take this all in. But it took a bit of time before I could see this as fear and concern and at the end of the day, simply love and humanity.
But I’m a child of the late sixties and early seventies. Some of us actually believe that stuff.
The hospital meetings were routine and/or not great. My second surgical consult was contentious and, as people out here say, very east coast. Amy and I compared notes about it afterwards and it affected us each differently. But, we both agreed the doctor was a bummer. Perhaps it was his job to point out all the options and risks but we didn’t have any good chemistry. And I had a toss-and-turn night thinking about it.
At the end of the day, nights like that are inevitable. It’s a big deal. There will be sleepless nights.
After the scheduled tests, they sent me to some unscheduled tests, “if I have the time.” This is almost funny because it is sort of like saying, “if you want to step over here, you can avoid getting run over. You know…if it’s not too much trouble.”
Amy had not planned to be at the hospital all day (neither did I, but this has happened before). We grabbed some lunch in the underground cafeteria, straight out of Scrubs. It is here that you see the hospital is, for many people, just where they work. Wearing scrubs is a great equalizer. They make doctors look like janitors and vice versa.
The next two appointments were walk-in. These places in the hospital are funny low spots too. Everyone is treated the same, and you see a cross section of everyone at this urban, teaching hospital.
Most people are not doing as well as I am. They are blind, limbless, breathing heavy or slumped over in a wheel chair. They are wearing masks or dressed in suits, old and young. Usually not too young as most of the young ones are over a Children’s hospital. That’s probably a good idea.
Amy said after I got blood drawn, “I now know what it means when they ask if you are short of breath. You aren’t.” She had seen a couple people for whom walking to the clinic made them essentially pant.
When you are asked the same questions over and over, you start to doubt your answers. “Wait. I do get a little winded walking up that hill by our house,” I thought. Well, not like these people. I am fine by comparison.
It makes you grateful but it also sad. I am speaking from privilege in some respects. My heart ailment isn’t causing me to live a grossly different life, yet. But eventually that’s where I’m headed. If not now, then some day.
While I can, I will breathe in deeply and try to taste it. I hope the pre-surgical needs are mostly filled. I look forward to recharging my batteries a bit in the next few weeks and then spending my time, post surgery, figuring out how to live a life that feels like the right balance of personal fulfillment and love.
