Procedure

I  recently underwent a procedure.

Not just any procedure. THE procedure. Well, I suppose other people may have their own version of THE procedure. But for me, and I think for a lot of people, this is the one. At least for now…

‘What brings you in today?’

It all started about a year ago. Actually, I suppose it all started 30+ years ago when my particular genetic cocktail was formed. Traits, predispositions, allergies, sensitivities, disorders, pains, deformities, and the rest. All mixed together with a dash of environmental factors, a spoonful of living life, and a small dose of determinism. But, for purposes of the question, it all started about a year ago.

Back then, I was stressed. Well, I’m always a little stressed. Some days the stress hides in the grass as I go about my day, just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Other days, it sits on my chest before I’m even awake. My average baseline of stress constantly runs at a low hum like background music at a carnival: annoying, but familiar. But things felt acutely stressful about a year ago and life’s stressors started to manifest physically. Sleepless nights and a few extra gray hairs circling the shower drain turned into heart palpitations, headaches, and stomach cramps. The latter got so bad that I figured a prudent person would go to a doctor. Naturally, I waited a few months before eventually deciding to go.

‘Ok, take off your shirt and lie down.’

Words that would otherwise be unsettling outside of a medical office, spa, or CPR training. I stared at the ceiling as blue-gloved hands assessed my [checks anatomy textbook] belly. It’s a weird feeling to be hoping for answers while at the same time not wanting anything to be abnormal. Hoping there’s something to fix without having a terminal diagnosis. A few pokes, prods, and deep breaths later and I was sitting up again.

‘Let’s schedule you for a —.’

I appreciated the nonchalantness, but unfortunately my pounding heartbeat made it hard to focus. We’re all busy people. Enough with the chit chat. Best to cut straight to the chase. My stomach hurt even more.

‘It’s a straight-forward procedure involving a tiny camera and a flexible tube…’

Sometimes things don’t need further explanation. Like when you’re told you have bad breath. Or that there’s no more ketchup. Or that your favorite team is ‘officially’ out of the playoffs. My first reaction in these situations isn’t to ask ‘How?’ or ‘Are you sure?’ but rather to tuck the corners of my mouth into my earlobes and nod.

‘Now, for the prep there are several approaches that all lead to the same outcome...’’

Was one of the approaches all-you-can-eat super spicy hot wings? Nope, turns out it involves a bottle of chalky mystery liquid mixed with lots and lots of water. I felt a bead of cold sweat forming on my temples. (Note to self: If I ever win the lottery and can afford to have a personal assistant follow me around all day, I think half their time should be spent dabbing sweat off my hairline).

I left the office feeling…different. Nothing changed physically, but psychologically I had the same foreboding feeling I used to get in school when there was a big final presentation or paper due at the end of the term. No matter how hard I tried to push it to the back of my brain, every passing day pushed me relentlessly closer to the big event. My stomach made a weird noise as I got into my car and pulled out of the doctor’s office. I guess it was time for lunch.

--

Fast forward two months.

I’ll skip over the details of the procedure ‘prep.’ Needless to say, it was pretty intense. I’d describe it as an internal gutter cleaning or a chemically induced drain snaking. It would have been the worst possible day to have social obligations. Anyway, moving on…

My wife dropped me off at the surgical center. Due to safety precautions, only patients were allowed inside. An older man turned away at the door grasped for his wife as she was whisked away by medical staff. I waved my wife goodbye and followed behind them down the white hallway, pondering how circumstances had come to this. Beating back waves of fatigue from a sleepless night and pangs of hunger from an all-liquid diet, I staggered into the waiting room and sat down.

I’d never seen a more level playing field than this waiting room. Societal classifications were momentarily stripped away as I found myself surrounded by a dozen other people of all ages, shapes, and income brackets. Each had their own life and agenda, but all shared the same helplessness that comes from a total dependence on the medical system. The same terror of a spontaneous unclench. The air was thick with the smell of wipes and baby powder.

I made glancing eye contact with the middle-aged man in ill-fitting sweatpants seated next to me. This didn’t look like the type of person who wore pants without a nice belt. His imploring yet slightly vacant gaze confirmed our shared experience over the last 24 hours. For all I knew he could have been some titan of industry. But here, he was just another patient: vulnerable, scared, and alone.  I wanted to lean over and shakily whisper, ‘What’s a guy gotta do to get a donut pillow around here?’ But I refrained. I didn’t even have the energy to joke around. All I wanted was for this to be over with.

But first, paperwork! That great American pastime.

– Interlude (Key of F Major) –

(Loud groan)

‘Can I borrow a pen?’

[My country, 'tis of thee]  Read this.  [Sweet land of liberty]  Sign here.  [Of thee I sing]  Initial there.  [Land where my fathers died]  Emergency contact.  [Land of the pilgrims' pride]  Insurance information.  [From ev'ry mountainside]  Review billing information.  [Let freedom ring]

Didn’t I already fill this out online?

[My native country, thee]  Sign again.  [Land of the noble free]  Go back, you forgot a page.  [Thy name I love]  Confirm allergies and medications.  [I love thy rocks and rills]  Review privacy policy.  [Thy woods and templed hills]  Is there seriously a co-pay?  [My heart will rapture fills like that above]  Initial there.

– End of Interlude –

I pushed the clipboard away. No más, por favor.

After an incalculable amount of time, I heard my name announced to the room. So much for privacy. I impulsively held up my hand out of an irrational fear of being skipped in line before shuffling towards the voice. I looked back at the man slumped in the seat next to me. All of his energy was focused on some invisible smudge on the floor. I heard a tiny squeak as he slowly scraped his shoe over the smooth tile. I hoped he was there for a routine procedure.

As I passed through the swinging doors, I was shepherded into a completely different world. The lights were somehow even brighter and the buzzing of loud medical chatter filled the air. My baggy eyes squinted through the white light as the nurse briskly led me down a short hallway. I mumbled answers to her rapid-fire questions while trying to peek at what she was jotting down on her little notepad. A sharp right turn and the sound of a shower curtain sharply closing signaled that we were now in my ‘room.’

Without missing a beat she rummaged under the bed and pulled out a tray.

‘Clothes off and put here. Gown open in the back. Shoes here. Lie under the sheet with your head facing this way. Questions?’

I felt like I needed to ask something to maintain some semblance of dignity. ‘Can I keep my socks on?’

She was already halfway out of the room as she paused for the first time. ‘Um, that’s fine.’

Small victories. The fleeting illusion of control is a powerful thing.

I wriggled myself under the cold, paper-thin sheet and wiggled my sock covered toes just as a new face poked their head into the room.

‘Ready?’

A flurry of activity commenced as medical staff rushed in and out of my holding cell while tending to some kind of pre-procedure checklist.

IV placed? Check.

Allergies and medications? Check.

Blood pressure? Check. (It was high.)

Blood pressure #2? Check. (Still high.)

While this was happening, the nurse with the notepad came back in and stood over me.

‘Why are you here?’

I didn’t know there’d be a pop quiz. I blinked, rapidly filtering through possible answers:

• ‘Well, 30-something years ago my dad needed a roommate to make rent, and my mom was new to the area and looking for a place to live. A few years later…’
• ‘I both won and lost the genetic slot machine?’
• ‘To try my best?’

I blinked again and practiced my best monotone. ‘For a procedure.’

She seemed unimpressed. ‘But, why?’

I stared back at her and focused on my socked toes to counteract the patience leaving my body.

‘Because the doctor said so.’

She tapped her pen against her notepad before scribbling something and leaving. Another woman brushed by her and introduced herself as the anesthesiologist. Finally, my doctor came in. He pulled his mask down and smiled. I relaxed a little at the sight of a familiar face.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Hungry, mostly.’

And with that they rolled me down a hallway into another room and closed the door. I nervously but diligently followed their instructions by rolling onto my side as all sorts of commotion commenced behind me. I caught a glimpse of my heart rate beeping on the monitor. It was high.

‘Ok, pushing meds. Have a nice nap.’

Really have to trust the system now. I closed my eyes and thought about the nurse’s question. Why am I here? A cheeseburger with fries filled the empty void.

--

The bright light reflecting off the nurse’s glasses made my eyelids jump. Was I dying?

‘The doctor should be in shortly. Would you like some juice?'

Who said anything about dying? Yes. Juice. Now!

I was back in the holding area. I slurped down some apple juice, the sugary wave of syrupy goodness providing a much needed blast of energy. I had no idea what time it was, but otherwise felt surprisingly coherent.

The doctor came back, somehow looking even more rushed than before. ‘I took some tissue samples and should get the results back in a couple of weeks. I’ll see you then for a follow-up. The nurse will see you out.’

I guess that was it. I groggily put my clothes back on. As the nurse guided me towards the exit, I heard someone behind me gruffly asking a staff member what time it was. Sweatpants guy! I smiled for the first time all day. We did it! I gave him a thumbs up. He looked confused.

The nurse pushed through the doors and handed me off to my wife who was nervously waiting outside. I felt a powerful wave of gratitude wash over me as she took my arm.

‘How you feeling?’

I thought about why I’m here.

I gave her a kiss.

‘Cheeseburger.’

—