Just Following Procedure

For the n-teenth time I recently found myself with an IV in my hand, a blood pressure cuff on my arm, an oxygen monitor on my finger, and my bare ass in the air awaiting yet another "procedure."  I got to thinking about a few things (good drugs can do that), my long medical history, how healthcare delivery has changed, and just when did surgery become  merely a "procedure"?

I always thought a procedure was a series of things you did in a certain order to accomplish something.  (To make a cake you must assemble the ingredients, follow the recipe, bake the thing, and at the end of all that effort you have a cake.  FYI - If you do any of that out-of-order you will NOT get a cake.)  There are procedures flight attendants follow for take-off, there is a procedure for building a house, and there is a procedure for doing your income taxes.

I believe the insurance companies got together and decided if they stop calling it "surgery" and start calling it a "procedure" it wouldn't sound like a big deal and they could kick people out of the hospital on the same day - or if it involved amputation, maybe the next day. Better yet - don't even go to a hospital at all! Let's do it all in the doctor's office -  it's just a "procedure" after all!  For anything involving anesthesia....we'll invent a surgical suite thingy where doctors can see patients in one room and go across the hall to the surgical suite for the "procedures." Bonus - let's not call it "anesthesia"  anymore (because you'd need an anesthetist for THAT) - let's call it "sedation".

See how they did that?  Who says health insurance needs reforming?

I would like some reform.  A  little.  An effort? I don't deal with any kind of anesthesia well, although I have been told I am a whole lot of fun when I am coming out of it. This time around  I was waking up in the "surgical suite" when I heard someone knocking on the door.  My response?  "Penny? Penny? Penny? PENNYPENNYPENNYPENNY?"  I thought it was hysterical.  No one else did. Apparently they felt the fact that I was laughing like a hyena meant that I was well enough to be put in a car and driven home.  This is Joe's least favorite part of "procedures" - the nausea fueled race to get back to Gloucester before I throw up in the car. (Sorry, graphic content.) It's awesome. It keeps our romance alive, baby.

I have come to believe we will soon see mobile procedure trucks coming to our

[caption id="attachment_2476" align="alignright" width="268" caption="We Were Trained For This in Our Youth!"][/caption]

homes (like those dog groomers) where they  fix you up in the truck right there in the driveway.  After you are finished you can get your mail and walk up the sidewalk right back in to your house (with the entire neighborhood seeing your bare ass sticking out of a procedure gown.  (They won't be called "hospital gowns"  because.... there won't be any hospitals.)

In addition to the Big Bang Theory, we watch a lot of House Hunters (hey, it's good comic relief). There are a LOT of people out there who think they can't buy a house if the color of the rooms isn't to their liking. ( I am not making that up. )  Can you imagine what that show will be like in the year 2019 when people have to look for a house that can accommodate a growing family and all of their "procedures"?  "I like the space, but I just can't see myself getting a pap smear /  knee replacement / appendix removed in a room that needs so much updating - and the wall color (eyeroll) ewww!"

The Lent Thing - Baltimore Style

I was reading back through an old post about Lent when it dawned on me I needed to pull the trigger on this year's Lenten resolutions.  As I explained here  there are 3 things that need to happen: I need to 1) stop doing something, 2) start doing something and 3) something that is kept private. (i.e. I can't give up potato chips and make that the "private" thing because it would become apparent very quickly as I'd be in the police notes pretty fast.)

So why after all these years do I still cling to making Lenten resolutions? For those not familiar with the  Baltimore Catechism, I invite you to look over the following:

[caption id="attachment_2424" align="alignleft" width="193" caption="My Youth Started Here"][/caption]

This is the "beginner" version of the Baltimore Catechism.  Anyone who went through similar formation can still do the rapid-fire answers to questions like, "WHO MADE YOU?" and "WHY DID GOD MAKE YOU?"

After that you graduated to an expanded version, the St. Joseph's Baltimore Catechism.  That contained  more of the same on an expanded basis.  More to memorize.  More to stand up and parrot back to Here-Comes-Sister-Celestine-Riding-On-A-Jellybean.  (Our idea of really giving the nuns a hard time.)

There is something to be said for using rote memorization to train the memory but when I look back at these images I don't feel so much proud of having a well-trained mind as horror at what kind of ideas we were trained with.

[caption id="attachment_2442" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="FYI  Gay People Want to Marry The Person of Their Choice, Too"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_2450" align="aligncenter" width="499" caption="GIRLS: REMEMBER YOUR PLACE!"][/caption]

I have a dear friend who is my sherpa guide to hedonistic consumption.  I like to tell him he is "an occasion of sin" because he tempts me towards all kinds of impurities like expensive linens and splurging on gourmet cheeses and wines. My knee-jerk reaction toward what I perceive as excess was based on the following:

[caption id="attachment_2432" align="aligncenter" width="584" caption="Priorities, Beeuches!"][/caption]

Yeah, television is definitely an occasion of sin. "Bonanza" was pretty scandalous. Ed Sullivan?  Don't get me started.  Pure filth.

John would be considered a "BAD COMPANION!"



He's actually a pretty good companion. (We rarely sneak a cigarette.) He's taught me a lot about myself, including that we all deserve to have and enjoy nice things without beating ourselves up about it.

I'm all for a spring housecleaning of the soul but this year feels different. I've been sorting receipts for taxes and am appalled at the number of office visits, doctor visits, etc. that have piled up over the past year, and continue into this year.  My health has really sucked for the past 18 months (BTW, I'd be happy to give up lumbar steroid spinals for Lent) and I never did buy in to that "all pain and suffering can be offered up...will strengthen your faith" BS. So what to do for Lent when I already feel quite full-up with the existing penances in my life? I think I'll flip things and make this Lent a time for feeding my soul instead purging all my "impurities" (like my lust for potato chips).  I'm going to find things that nourish my heart, help me cope with my aches and strengthen my beliefs and values. I'm going to replenish my tool chest of life and faith skills.  While that approach is not in sync with the Baltimore Catechism I believe if I can do that for 40 days I'll come out on the other end as a stronger, better, faith-filled person - and that is what I believe to be the purpose of Lent.

Heavyweight Featherweight

Isn't she beautiful?
This is my foster-sewing machine, lent to me by a dear friend who understands my Bernina-separation-anxiety (and is probably tired of hearing me endlessly whine.....)

Anyway, she is comfortably nestled in my sewing room and I have already used to her make a few blocks for a shop sample quilt we are doing for the New England Quilt Museum gift shop.  She sews like a dream - those of you lucky enough to have a featherweight can attest to the beautiful, straight stitch.  It even smells good. It  smells like my mother's old Singer did way back when.  I was mid-project when the Bernina gave out and now that I can continue I have no idea how or where my head was when I started the project.  I was going to make a snazzy carrying case for my iPad and I had it all mapped out in my head how the different layers and separators would go together.  Now - nadda.  I vaguely remember... but not well enough to jump back in and finish.  (I have learned the hard way that you do NOT sew when you are 1) tired, 2) frustrated or 3) unclear on the details.)

I have an extra reason to be thankful for such a portable marvel of a machine. I spent an hour and 45 minutes crammed head-first into  a steel coffin (AKA MRI machine)  on Sunday and found out today that they DID NOT SCAN MY KNEE.  Lower spine, yes - knee, NO.  Since my original trip to the doctor was about not having any feeling or sensation or support in my knee (causing 2 horrific falls) I was speechless to find that it was the one thing they did not scan.  Today I have a 4PM appointment with my primary care physician (who has foisted me off on PA's for the last several years, just sayin') and we are going to have a 5-alarm come-to-Jesus.  I am angry and horrified that I underwent that terrifying (I'm claustrophobic) MRI against my wishes and have nothing to show for it that didn't already show up on an MRI we did just six months ago.

Bottom line -  when I get hauled off to jail for gutting him like a fish I will at least have this little  featherweight  in its elegant black carrying case with me so I can make some stylish prison garb to wear to my anger management therapy sessions.  Seriously.

Resolving to Not Resolve

Beginning week 2 of the furlough from work.  I had no overwhelming plans for what to do or  make, finish or start but I think I have set a new record......low.   Since the Bernina is still in a different repair shop,  I'm left with way too much time on my hands to ponder the purchase of a 2nd, used machine.  I feel guilty just writing it about it - it seems like such an extravagance. But as to the long list of other things I could be doing?  Aside from cleaning out my closets and delivering an overstuffed car load of clothing and miscellaneous household goods to the local food pantry thrift shop.... nadda.

The one thing I have accomplished during this unpaid, stress filled furlough is epic sleep. Maybe it is a reflection of the exhausted state that most of us function in year round, or it could be a symptom of depression.  Probably an unhealthy combination of both but I flat out refuse to guilt myself about sleeping.  Sleep is wonderful, blissful, and free -  and I feel it so deep in my sore bones. Before he left for work this morning, my husband came in to our bedroom to kiss me goodbye.  He leaned over and saw that my electric blanket had timed  off, and flicked it back ON.  What a stellar guy.  I rolled over on my side and just faded off for another hour or so, and it was bliss.

I have also had time to read blogs and admire what others are working on, doing, or surviving.  The woman over at Toddler Planet has my heart in the palm of her hand.  Go over and visit, send her your very best energy, love and light.   The older I get the more I seem to know people who are suffering and  struggling with health issues.  If you do not know about Caring Bridge free websites go and find out now.  You will probably need one someday for someone you know. They are a marvelous and  remarkable way to keep family and friends updated and  involved without causing stress to the one who is ill.  We have a CaringBridge page for my Dad and it warms my heart to see my cousins and aunts and uncles leaving him little notes of love and support, telling him what they are doing, etc.  I'm not sure that Dad comprehends it when we read him the entries but I can tell you that we,  his children,  have taken such comfort in reading those guest book entries.  It is a wonderful thing.

I have one week of furlough left and I have resolved to resolve.....nothing.  I live with enough demands on my time, my pocket, my sore bones and my spirit. I'm going to watch Downton Abbey every  time it is on television.  I am going to read and doze and take a couple of obscenely long showers and use some French soap I've been saving up for something special.  I am special.  I am using that lovely soap on my tired body and I will  inhale the fragrance and I will allow myself the pleasure of rest with no demands.

Waiting for Randot

Remember the Samuel Beckett play, Waiting for Godot? This one rhymes, but his last name does not have the "t".  I spent almost all of last  Monday at Mass General Hospital in Boston while a friend was in surgery.  I have done a lot of time in hospitals as a patient, but not as the patient advocate/support buddy.  The ensuing days were full of commuting to Lowell to work, commuting to Boston to bedside-sit, and then back home late at night. It was a remarkable week, full of insights on the human condition and a reminder of the suffering going on all around us 24/7 and 365.  Overhearing conversations in waiting rooms and hospital cafeterias should be mandated about once a month for all of us - it puts so much into perspective and  allows us to realize not all of our problems are so terrible.  It also gives us the opportunity to enrich our own  souls by praying for the health and well-being of  those lives  briefly glimpsed and overlapped with our own.

Knowing I would have a lot of  time on my hands I packed up my little cathedral window table runner blocks to bring with me,  thinking it would be a good time to finish up the project. (This picture shows it when it was a  work in progress.)  I'm more pleased that it is finished than I am with how it actually looks.  It is one of those projects that looks pretty simple on the surface, but matching those exacting intersections and seam allowances is entirely another matter. It was very therapeutic to be in a stressful situation with some hand sewing.  I found it made me calmer and - in turn - a better patient advocate. I had a few moments when I wanted to go postal and  make like Shirley Maclaine in Terms of Endearment (GIVE MY DAUGHTER  THE SHOT !!!!!) but managed much more successful methods of requesting medication and attention for my friend.  After  a  couple of trips to the nurses desk, the nurse informed me I could just use the call button and request what I needed.  ( I already knew that, but I wasn't going to tell her.)  I just smiled and said it felt good to get up and walk around a little.  While I have enormous respect for the work nurses do, I also know that things happen faster when you request nicely and face to face.  I did not bust chops,  I wasn't a pain in anyone's ass, but I'm not allowing anyone to be a pain in mine (or my friend's) either, and the previous night we politely  waited two hours for a simple  sandwich that never did show up for my very, very hungry patient. I am a reasonable person, but that is the kind of thing that makes  me change gears and ramp it up.  Aside from the fact that I could make Shirley Maclaine look like a piker by comparison, it just isn't necessary to get ugly.    I think anything we do, sew, create, cook or tend to for another person should be done with compassion and love. Judging by what I have seen and heard over the past week,  we could all make an effort to make someone else's life or job easier.  In turn, ours will, too.

Contemplating Ceilings

I feel like indulging myself in  some really selfish whining so if you can't handle it just  bail right now. It's my blog and I'll bitch if I want to -- and I want to.

I have spent an unfair amount of my life staring at ceilings, namely the drop  ceilings found in doctor's offices.  I have had  a LOT of surgery over the years so I am something of  a connoisseur of ceiling construction, examination garments (paper and cloth) and the accoutrement that goes with yet another trip to the doctor to see what-the-hell-is-wrong-this-time.

My most favorite ceiling was in the OB/GYN offices of my beloved and much missed Dr. Rose Osborne.  Rose was not only a hell of a surgeon, but for a "cutter" she had a great sense of humor. Rose always had pictures on the ceiling so you had something to enjoy and contemplate while your feet were in the stirrups.  God I loved that woman - and I miss her dearly.  Cancer often takes the best from this earth and I'm getting a seriously bad attitude about the "why" of it all.

Most hospital or doctor's offices have dropped ceilings with or without the little black dots.  I have counted those dots many times while waiting for a doctor, physician assistant, EMG, EKG, MRI, X-ray,  or any one of the endless round of procedures I seem to have on my chart.  A few ceilings have that textured popcorn stuff that is pretty droll and gives you nothing but endless craters to contemplate as you prepare yourself for what comes next.  I'm surprised that no one has thought to put a flat screen on the ceiling so you could watch a movie or take in a sitcom - have a few laughs while you get tubes and electrodes stuck into places where the sun don't shine.  It sure would make a difference. Hell, it would make a huge difference. The pharmaceutical companies should cough up some serious bucks for those things instead of the wine-and-dine golf outings and  BS they pay for now.

I feel at this point I have earned my own examination  gown (they call them a "johnny" out here) that I could whip out of my totebag and put on with some aplomb.  I'd certainly make it out of some attractive print, maybe a Kaffe Fassett, so I could at have something  pleasurable to wrap up in for the duration. (The bleached out drab greens and blues are  surgical and so depressing.  I'm just sayin' . )   As for the ceilings - well, hell - would a little something up there bankrupt your practice?  I don't think so.   I'm not asking for the Sistine Chapel (although a poster of it up there would be a pisser)  but is it really asking too much to tack something up there so those of us trapped in a tarp with three armholes can have a little something to look at while we ponder what  orifice or vein is next to be violated?

I have an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon this morning at a sports medicine clinic.  I can't wait to see what they have on the walls.   Judging by the age of the building,  I can  tell you right now the ceilings are going to have fluorescent light fixtures with  those cracked ice lenses.   There will be pictures of patients shooting a basketball, or back on their slalom skis swooshing about with "thanks Doc!" penned across the bottom.   I'll bet anybody $100 that  their ceilings are bare of any posters, much less one of a  50- something  female with a spinal fusion from scoliosis gone to hell-in-a-hand basket.  Any takers?

I didn't think so.