Posted April 4th, 2003 by Michelle

I wrote an entry at the hospital, on my trusty Palm Pilot, but the experience was so over the top that I thought I’d put it more simply. I was given terrible information on pretty much every side of my little medical issue. First of all, when I got to the hospital, they had no record of me. They finally figured out where I was supposed to go, but said my appointment wasn’t for an hour. So then I get down to the pre-surgery clinic, where I find out that I am NOT there for surgery, but for a check-up to (for the fourth time) schedule surgery. So I waited another lifetime before seeing first one, then two, then three doctors, all of whom made me drop my pants. I won’t go into graphic detail, in order to spare you squeamish ones, but I got a FULL exam. Ladies, like what they do to us once a year? Yep, but from the other direction. Hoo, boy, yeah, yuck. So the first two doctors are telling me that the surgery I need is excessively painful, that they would have to use general anesthesia rather than local, that my recovery time would be long. I told them that my little problem in not responding to my prescribed therapy, that I had to get back to work, that I had to get back on my bike. I did not like nor trust the male doctor- he seemed to not care so much. After his very very thorough exam, he and the woman doctor left the room and I could hear them talking in the hall. They brought in a third doctor, who introduced himself as a fellow cyclist, and said that a money-happy surgeon would tell me to go under the knife, but that he said that would be a bad idea. He said that only if it was chronic, if I got them over and over and they were debilitating, would surgery be a good idea. He said it was a last resort, and that I would be off my bike for a lot longer if I went that route. Basically, I am to live with the pain, and use all sorts of treatments, including laxatives, baths, other icky stuff, and hope that it goes away.

Talk about a pain in the ass.

But he did say it would get better, and I choose to believe him. I asked how long I had to be off my bike, and he said that was common sense. He said I couldn’t make it much worse, but that it was a matter of pain. These last few days haven’t been bad, but I’ve not been physical at all, and that more than anything is driving me crazy. When I worked earlier in the week, it really didn’t hurt too much, beyond a steady annoying pain, until the last few hours of my shifts. And then I felt it all the time. So I am fully determined to get better. I am going to try to give up my night shifts, since they are longer, and work mostly days. I’m going to take a bath every night, and religiously take all the goofy stuff to make my bodily functions more bum-friendly. And I’m going to wait a few days before going on even a short ride, and see how I feel. What I need most is to get back to yoga… maybe in the middle of next week.

Strange how much I’ve shrugged off the war the last few days. I still think about it just as much, but suddenly my thoughts are so conflicted that I don’t have any clear feelings anymore. Reading about what Saddam Hussein has done to his people makes me think that maybe something good can come from this war, even if Bush’s reasons are entirely different than my own. I feel like there is little to do now, other than hope. I still think Bush is, well, fill in expletive here, but maybe despite him, despite the hatred created around the world because of this war, maybe… I don’t know. Maybe.

By the by, slowly but slowly, the weather is back to sucksville. In the 30’s, windy, wet, no fun of any kind. In my mind I’m going to Carolina, where my brother and Tessa roam the streets in tank tops.

I have to add, though, that my life is still amazing. My mom gave up a day of work to spend it with me. She sat in the hospital, took me to lunch, came over and watched four movies with me as I lay on my futon. My dad was the first message on my cell phone when I got out of the hospital, wanting me to come stay in California for a week so I could get better. Ian and Tessa were willing to drive me to an upstate hospital at midnight last Friday if I couldn’t get in to see anyone locally. And Sean and Jordana- well- there is simply nothing they wouldn’t do to help, regardless if I was hemrrhoidal (yeah, I know that’s not a word) or well. Beyond that, the miracle of health insurance. Yes, it is by no means a perfect system, but each visit to my doctor cost all of $10, and each trip to the ER cost all of $35. All I’m out is a week of work. I cannot begin to imagine what this would have cost… I can’t even think about it. But you know what- even then- no one in my family will ever let me go hungry, and better yet, not one of them, in my extended family reaching from here to California, would let me do it alone. I feel so blessed, and so embarassed sometimes that I’ve complained about all of this. Because, really, I don’t feel sorry for myself. This could have been cancer, I could have no family. Enough said.