Hold the Pickles & the Chalk

Yesterday I was booked for a full day in Nashville at various Centennial establishments.  It all started at midnight as I was instructed not to eat or drink anything beyond that critical hour.  No problem, I was sure they had plenty of good food and drinks prepared for me.

First stop of the day was at the TACE building which houses the Centennial Center for the Treatment of Obesity and my surgeon’s office.  At the surgeon’s office I had to pay the good doctor what the insurance company has deemed my financial responsibility for his part in the surgery.  $241.00.  I have been informed that amount is completely refundable should I chicken out change my mind prior to surgery.

I am going to rudely interrupt my own thoughts here to explain the funding for this surgery.  Financially, this is probably not the best time to add yet another medical expense to our coffers.  Ed’s little cardiac stunt has stretched our limits a little bit.  In fact, when I first approached Ed about me having the surgery, his initial response was that perhaps this year wasn’t good timing.  I agreed and immediately shelved the idea.  Before too much dust accumulated on the shelf, I received a large package of information from Centennial.  Included were the costs for the various procedures.

I knew we had awesome insurance coverage with a maximum out of pocket expense of $1,000 each per year (not including co-pays and medications).  I did some quick math – really quick math – and realized that I was going to need that entire $1,000 to pay for the surgery.  It was definitely too much money for us right now.  Oh well, maybe next year.

Unfortunately, my mind never stops working.  I just keep thinking of the benefits of the surgery and the eventual savings on just medications and food.  Then I remembered a little 401k that I had from one of the jobs I had in New Jersey.  I knew it wasn’t a lot of money and we never really did anything with it.  It sits there and loses or gains a few dollars every quarter.  Most of the time, I don’t even bother to open the statements that come.  I started wondering how much money was left in that little savings account.  The very next day – the statement arrived.  The total amount minus the penalty for early withdrawal was just about exactly what I needed to pay for the surgery, co-pays, and my supplements for the first 3 months.    

Back to Nashville.  Okay, so now I have paid my surgeon and I am directed into the classroom to wait for the start of my pre-op class.  I already have my insurance approval, so I am no longer afraid them sneaking some algebra into this class.  I was correct.  Instead it was a lot of going over what I have already been told, read or heard.  A dietitian came in and told us all about eating before and after surgery.  A pharmacist came in and told us about the vitamins and supplements we would be taking for the rest of our lives.  She then took each of us individually to discuss our current medications.  I will no longer be able to swallow a whole pill – they will all need to be either crushed or chewed.  She took the list of my meds and offered suggestions to the surgeon for post-surgical replacements.  The class started at 9:00 am and went on for just over 2 hours.  My stomach was growling something fierce.  People kept looking outside at the sky – I am sure they thought it was thundering.  In fact, I am fairly certain that I am responsible for at least one severe weather alert.

It is now 11 am and I have a 1:00 appointment at the main Centennial Hospital for an upper GI series.  I didn’t want to give up my awesome parking spot, so I walked to the Hospital.  It is just down the street.  Of course, with the heat and humidity and my lack of food or water – it seemed much further.  I had to go to registration before heading to the Imaging Department.  Not sure why this is a necessary step – especially since I had to pre-register (over the phone) for my registration.

Whatever.  I knew I was early and was hoping that perhaps I would get called back early.  No such luck.  I sat and read my book on my tablet and watch with intense jealousy as my seat partner was given two bottles of some sort of liquid and told to drink them.  I almost offered to help him, but he seemed to be enjoying them.  My stomach continued to rumble.  I continued to look around as if I had no idea where the noise was coming from.

My name (or some attempt at pronouncing it) was finally called and I headed back – excited at the prospect of finally receiving the milkshake I was promised.  They gave me a gown to put on over my clothes – therefore increasing my body temperature another 20 degrees.  I did inquire as to why this was necessary and the technician told me they didn’t want me to get any milkshake on my clothes.  She obviously hasn’t seen the majority of clothes in MY closet.  She escorted me to the x-ray room where I was to receive my goodies and enough radiation to glow in the dark for a month. She explains they are going to give me some sort of crystals in a little bit of water and they are going to foam up and I have to swallow it really fast.  Afterwards, I will feel like I must burp, but I am to resist such an urge at all costs.  Then, I will get my Chocolate milkshakes.  Then, another tech comes in and tells me exactly the same thing.   I got to sit for 20 minutes waiting for the radiologist while longingly looking at my *2* milkshakes waiting for me.  Dr. arrives and describes what was going to happen.  It sounded exactly like what the techs told me except “chocolate” milkshake was starting to sound a little bit like “chalky” milkshake.

I did manage to swallow the cup of the fuzzy stuff and proceed without burping.  I drank one whole milkshake and most of the second.  It didn’t do anything for my rumbling, growling stomach.  The tech did tell me that if I have to have a swallow test after my surgery to check for leaks – the stuff I would have to drink then tastes “absolutely disgusting.”  I am still pondering why she felt the need to impart that little tidbit of information.  I guess it is just something else to look forward to.

I then went back down the street to the Woman’s Hospital for pre-admission testing.  First, I had to make a stop at the Registration desk and register again.  They cut off my wrist band and give me another one.  I head upstairs and wait a half hour for someone to call my name.  The anesthesiologist came took me into a little room and asked all the normal medical questions.  She then took me across the hall to another little room where a nurse asked me the same medical questions and more.  She typed into her computer for a long time.  I think she was playing Farmville, but she wouldn’t let me see the screen so I have no actual proof.  By this time, I was feeling pretty weak and sick to my stomach.  I wondered if I passed out how long it would take a team of professionals to come to my aid.  After feeding her cows and harvesting her crops – she took me across the hall again.

  

This time I was seated in yet another waiting room.  She rang a bell on the desk, handed me some papers and told me to come get her if someone didn’t answer the bell within 5 to 7 minutes.  I was frantically searching for a stopwatch app for my phone when the door opened and a friendly tech invited me back to her little domain.  Her name tag said her name was Melinda and she was a phlebotomist.  She gave me an EKG and then took a gallon of blood from my arm.  She then told me I was free to go.  She mentioned she heard there was a thunderstorm very close and to drive carefully.

Weak, suffering from extreme malnutrition and a wicked headache – I shuffled down the hall and out the door to the parking lot.  I drove two miles and scored a large Diet Coke and a Whopper.  The irony of it all.

Today, I started my pre-surgical liquid diet.  Yay.