Tubal Recappation

Otherwise known as "The Story of What Happened When They Stuck a Tube Up My Nose, Down My Throat, and Into My Lungs for a Biopsy."

I'm trusting that you're still out there, dear readers. BD just got on me about the two non-posts I've put up in the last week and got me all feeling bad. Hopefully, I can make it up to you with a little self-deprecation.

So, Friday. I was nervous, but it was tolerable nervousness. It was a normal morning. BD was rushing me, I was going "slow", and we got there on time. As usual. [Though he would tell you that we were 1 minute late. If it were up to me, we would have been 20 minutes late to make up for all that time we spent in the waiting room. Hmph.]

Anyway.

Waiting. Yeah, we were waiting. That seemed to be the eventual theme of the day.

They called me back at around 9:51 and BD stayed in the waiting room. Blah blah small talk with the nurse. Change clothes. Oh! New footies. Love these. What's this? A disposable blanket with a forced warm air hook-up. Very cool. Oh, you have kids? Halloween. Yeah, last week. Pea pod. Boy, then girl. Must be nice. Stare out window.

Me: By the way, I have, like, an IV phobia thingee. I hate them due to some bad experiences. Could you be gentle please?

Nurse: No problem. We have a policy here. Two sticks only. After that, we bring in a doctor. Plus, we use a numbing agent so that you don't feel it.

Me: Wait. I've had that before. So, you poke me before you poke me?

Nurse: Yes, but it's just like a bee sting.

Me: I know. And then it burns. By the way again, I'm scared of bees. So, bee stings, not so great. Also, do you have to stick it in my hand?

Nurse. Hahaha

Me:

Nurse: Let's get started.

Stick.
Burn.
Fiddle.
Fiddle.
Fiddle.

Nurse: Oh, hmm. Well. Hmm.

Me: (I'm gonna hurl)

Nurse: Maybe we should try the other side? Is there any reason why we can't try the other side?

Me: (Besides me losing it?) No.

Nurse moves bed in order to gain access to my right side.
Stick.
Burn.
Fiddle.
Fiddle.
Fiddle.

Nurse: It's too bad that you're dehydrated. It makes this more difficult.

Me: (You mean it's more difficult because I followed instructions and didn't eat or drink? Interesting.) I was told not to eat or drink. (I'm about to lose my dinner from last night, for reals.)

Fiddle.
Fiddle.

Nurse: Hm. Your veins. Hm.

Fiddle.
Fiddle.
YOW!

That "YOW!" was from me. I don't know what she did, but whatever it was, it resulted in pain identical to that which one nurse inflicted on me when I was birthing Playette. It hurt. Really, really hurt. (See "bad experiences" above.)

Let me say this: not all IVs are bad. Some people know what they're doing. Some people are gentle, especially when you tell them that you're scared up front.

The last IV I got? Totally fine. It was when I had the CT scan with contrast a few months ago. The technician was amazing. So it's possible.

Nurse: Did I do that?

Me: Yes. I'm done now.

Nurse: Huh?

Me: I'd like to go home. I'm done.

Nurse: Well, I'm not going to stick you any more. I'm going to get the best person we've got. I'll be right back.

Me: grumblegrumble Why didn't you bring that person in the beginning? grumblegrumble

Nurse comes back.

Nurse: It'll just be a little while.

Me: No worries. I'd like to go home now.

Nurse: Really?

Me: Yes.

Nurse: Oh. Um. Should I go get your husband?

Me: Yes, please. And also please let my doctor know that I'm leaving.

BD comes back a few minutes later. Apparently, he's supposed to be "talking some sense into me" but whatever. It's not working. I'm looking out the window, tears coming from my eyes because I realize that I'm a grown woman with all my faculties and they still don't want to allow me to make my own decisions.

Bah Humbug.

BD proceeded to tell me that my lung would shrivel and be no more if I didn't agree to this...or something. He tried hard because at one point the nurse said that it would take my doctor 20-30 minutes to get there and then the next thing I knew, there she was. And then she proceeded to tell me that my lung would shrivel and be no more if I didn't agree to this.

Two to one. Ugh. Fine. I conceded.

The anesthesiologist came it.

Stick.
Burn.
Fiddle.
Fiddle.
(Yes, only two)

She stuck it in a really odd place. And it hurt. But it was in. I knew that I wasn't going to allow her to do it again, so if I were going to go through with this, I needed to just do it already. I asked for some towels on which to position my arm to alleviate the pain and began to repeat the following to myself:

I've felt worse pain than this.
I've felt worse pain than this.
I've felt worse pain than this.

I said goodbye to BD and rolled away. I was quite impressed with how well the anesthesiologist maneuvered my bed around the tight corners of the hospital. I wondered to myself if everyone was required to take a class in that. As it is, I knock Playette's stroller into walls all the time. She had mad bed rolling skillz.

We got to the room where the procedure would take place. It was small and there were a butt-ton of people in there, it seemed. The mad roller, a nurse, the radiologist, the nurse with the cool Indian name that she told me meant "running brook" after I asked her about it, and me. I don't remember seeing the doctor. I can only hope that she came in after I was doped up.

Next thing I knew, I was in recovery. Mad roller was watching me from behind a glass wall. Or was it her? I don't know. I was loopy. Regardless, I felt like I was in captivity. My blood pressure was normal. I do remember that. I checked every time I woke up from a nap. And then I would go back to sleep.

Eventually, I was rolled out of my cage natural habitat. Wait? Why is no one else in a cage? Am I contagious? Zzzzzzzz

I got home somehow. Car? One horse open sleigh? Raccoon gang? I can't be sure.

But I'm ok now. I had a sore throat for a while, coupled with some nausea, but by Sunday all was well. I have to use an inhaler and gargle twice a day, but I think I'll be fine.

Except now my back hurts. Totally unrelated, but I feel so bad for BD. It sucks that I can't even feel good about being waited on hand and foot. If you're still reading this, BD, you're a great husband. Thanks for fixing me when I'm broken.