Thursday, March 31, 2005

The Catheter Chronicles VI: Die Another Day

Why won't doctors ever listen to their patients?

Let me repeat that, just for those of you who rarely visit with the doctor and find yourselves with the occasional cold or flu...

Why won't doctors ever listen to their patients?

Sorry for yelling. There I was, my pitiful form lying motionless on the papered examintation table. The flourescent lighting peered down, mocking me relentlessly. Dr. S. means well. He always enters with a cordial smile and an antiseptic handshake.

Dr. S. concentrated on my paperwork, scowling the entire time. He finally spoke, but regardless of what he was going to say, I knew it was going to be bad news.

"Your catheter has moved into a mass of fat in your abdomen."

Keep in mind young blogger reader, that I'm 115-120lbs. when soaking wet, so the odds of this happenning were minimal.

Also keep in mind, since I' m named Stacy, my luck is neither good or bad. I just have "Stacy Luck", unexplainable to most members of the human race.

"I've only seen this happen in one other patient, but he's not with us anymore."

At first, I though Dr. S. just had a sick sense of humor.

Turns out, he wasn't kidding.

He reached up into one of the cuboards above his head and pulled out a syringe and began connecting it to a small tube of fluid.

"Excuse me, but my PD (peritoneal dialysis) nurse already tried pushing fluid and heparin into my abdomen and it was EXTREMELY painful."

"I realize that Stacy, but I think I can clear the blockage."

I should have buttoned up my khakis, jumped up and just walked out. It would have been simple, painless and totally understandable.

But I just laid there. Pitiful, frightened and overwhelmed with emotion. He attached the heparin syringe and pushed the plunger slowly.

This wasn't regular run-of-the-mill all-American pain. This was more of a low, building, novel pain that wanted my body all to itself.

Fortunately Dr. S. had enough brains to stop torchering me.

Next Thursday, or the following Thursday I will have a laproscopic procedure done to move the catheter. This involves sticking a 5mm wide device through the length of the catheter to rearrange the placement.

More anaestesia. More scalpel's. More time away from work. More loss of income. More problems with my insurance.

More than I can handle. More than I deserve.

More of my soul slipping away.

If I were allowed to utter only two words the remainder of my life, they would simply be...
...no more.

2 comments:

  1. This is by far the most entertaining blog I've ever had the delight/displeasure (due to the immense physical pain some of your hospital-related 'adventure' descriptions incurred within me)of reading. I will most certainly be looking forward to future posts. I should probably let you know that you are not the first blogger to play the alphabet game. You are, in fact, the eighth. The previous seven all now belong to a secret elite alphabet society...one to which there shall be no more entrances. Though, your alphabet paragraph-thingy, was by far the best.

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  2. Great, make light of his alphabetical achievement....nicely done.

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