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.
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