So if you’ve read my last entry, you know that the wife and I have decided to take our lives back. Hooray, Koombayah and all of that shit.
Last Wednesday, I went to see my regular Doctor (Doctor Henderson, aka the guy that’s saved my life twice since Halloween 2005) about the sinus infection and cold I have had.
He looked, listened to my lungs, and did a couple of x-rays (again) and decided that my breath sounds in my left lung were diminished (again), just as they were Saturday morning just five days prior.
“Is it bad?” I asked.
“It’s not as bad as last time, but there’s still a good amount of fluid there.” He said. “I think you should make an appointment with your surgeon in the next week or two and have him take a look and see what he thinks and what he wants to do.”
Since my Doctor Phil(ip) hadn’t steered me wrong yet, I called that day and made an appointment to see my surgeon for an x-ray and a consult after that.
I got there about 1pm today (half an hour early, cuz that’s how I roll) and picked up my x-ray order and walked (not drove) to the building where I’d get the x-ray done. It wasn’t a mile, but it wasn’t next door either. See how I was taking my life back?
I got the x-ray, looked at it, held it up next to Wednesday’s and last Saturday’s and said the following:
“Well God dammit.”
There isn’t as much as there was last Saturday (when only 1/3 or so of my left lung was visible on the x-ray), but there isn’t much less either.
I walked the x-rays back to my surgeon’s office and waited my turn (I was still about 30 minutes early for my actual appointment).
In the meantime, I was sitting next to a very fit looking guy of about 55-65 and his wife, and no one was saying anything. Finally, she left to make a phone call and so I asked him “So…whatcha getting done?”
He said “I’m having valve replacement.”
“Are you getting the robot deal?” I asked.
“Yeah. How about you?”
I then told him my story, and by this time his wife had returned. Between them, I bet they asked me about 150 questions and I seemed to make them feel a little better. He was acting cool, but I could tell he was a little freaked. Who wouldn’t be? It’s heart surgery for God’s sake.
After we talked for a good 20 or so minutes, they headed out for pre-op stuff (as his surgery wasn’t until Wednesday or Thursday), but not before I wished them good luck. I think they both felt a lot better, and I felt better having eased some of their fears.
An interesting story about this guy. He told me that he’d had reflux so bad for so long that he was in constant pain for years. When they finally got that controlled with medicine, he literally woke up the next day and said to himself “What the fuck is THAT pain right there?”
Next stop: Cardiologist.
Diagnosis: Failing valve.
Crazy, huh?
Anyway, I got into a room and relaxed by reading the book “Whiteout” by Ken Follett until Lisa or Dr. Murphy were able to talk to me. (That didn’t take long by the way. This isn’t a bitch post about doctors and their schedules. I’m just establishing a timeline).
They both agreed that I had built up enough fluid that they wanted to have it drained. Again.
For those of you that haven’t backread my blog (shame on you), here’s some important information. The draining process is called Thoracentesis, which is:
a procedure to remove fluid from the space between the lungs and the chest wall called the pleural space. It is done with a needle (and sometimes a plastic catheter) inserted through the chest wall. This pleural fluid may be sent to a lab to determine what may be causing the fluid to accumulate in the pleural space.
There. Now let’s return you to our story.
I asked if there was anything I had done or not done that would cause this condition or if there was anything I could do to prevent it.
No to both counts.
“It just happens,” he said. “It’s not uncommon for this to happen several times to a patient.”
(I’ll act in the meantime like he didn’t actually say that last part).
“So when would you like to get the fluid drained?” Lisa asked me.
First I said ASAP, but it was getting towards 3:30 in the afternoon, and since Atlanta traffic in general (and Pill Hill traffic in particular) suck ass after 4pm, I asked if I could get it done tomorrow. As in around noon.
Lisa said “Okay, I’ll let the 4:30 appointment for today go and see what’s available for tomorrow.”
Great. That sounds great.
She returned and said “I’ve got a 7:30am tomorrow.”
Shit.
“Can I take the 4:30pm today instead?”
“Let me check…nope. They’ve already given that appointment slot away and there’s no more staffing for the afternoon.”
“How on earth did I lose a slot in three minutes?” I asked incredulously.
“Happens all the time,” she said.
“Okay, is there a chance I can get it done later today? I mean, I’m here. I’ll wait.”
She said “Dr. Murphy might be able to do it at 5:00 or 5:30 this afternoon, but it could be later.”
“Fine with me. I’ll wait.”
She left, came back a few minutes later and said “It’d really REALLY help us out if you could take the 7:30am tomorrow.”
Shit.
“Fine,” I said. No big deal. I’ll just get up at 5:30am for the first time in 6 weeks and drive over there for a chest draining without all of the romance of the ER like last Saturday. Just me, some lydocaine, and a thirsty Bic pen-sized drain.
The good news is that if it’s a litre and a half or so like it looks, I’ll lose another 3 pounds tomorrow morning in about 90 minutes, and for about five bucks a pound (based on the $15 co-pay. If this is follow-up and no co-pay is required, this weight loss is free). At this rate, I could hit 200 or less by Memorial Day.
That’s a weight I haven’t seen since Jeff Burger was the QB at Auburn and I was using his name to score tail as a Freshman in college, even though his isn’t spelled right. (In case you must know, I explained away the Burger / Berger disparity by saying we were half brothers. Man, freshman girls from the country were dumb).
Anyway, if I do hit 200 or less, you can count on seeing me in a Speedo at the pool this summer.
Guaranteed.
What say you?