Human frailty

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I have my kidney stones, and my ischemia. I told you about my tennis elbow.

 

 

What else can go wrong?

 

 

We came back from France a few months ago, which means hoisting things in and out of overhead compartments on airplanes. Then, a few days after arrival, I went to the Providence Public Library without my sweet-little-old-lady library bag and came out with four heavy books and two “I LOVE MY LIBRARY” t-shirts. I walked for at least twenty minutes balancing thirty pounds of cargo – oh, that’s right, I stopped at CVS to buy some candy.

 

 

Two days later, my right shoulder began to ache.

 

 

Two days after that, I couldn’t raise my arm. I couldn’t put on a shirt without screaming with pain. I couldn’t lift a box of Junior Mints from the table.

 

 

I reconciled myself to this, though the blinding pain. I assured myself that I could make it through life somehow with one arm.

 

 

Then, after consulting WebMD and applying a heating pad and doing some physical-therapy exercises I learned from Partner, most of the pain went away.

 

 

It still twangs once in a while, and reminds me that it’s there. Naturally the words “rotator cuff” peal in my head.

 

 

And I remember what I heard a health professional say once: “Once you begin going downhill, you might slow down a bit here and there, or delay, but you never really stop going downhill.”

 

 

How cheerful!

 

 

Here’s a toast: to going downhill.

 

 

I hope the scenery is nice along the way.

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My procedure

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Momma went to the hospital last week.

 

 

Let me tell you all about it.

 

 

I’ve told you that I have kidney stones. Well, I had accompanying symptoms that worried my doctor (and were scaring the bejeezus out of me), and since I have a family history of cancer, they scheduled me for an exploratory – um – procedure.

 

 

I call it a “procedure” to be polite.  Think of it this way: there’s really only one good way to look into a person’s bladder. It involves something like a Krazy Straw, inserted into the most inconvenient place possible.

 

 

Luckily, I was under anaesthesia at the time.

 

 

I had this done at Kent County Hospital in Warwick, Rhode Island, and I tell you Rhode Islanders who may be reading this: you should be heading to Kent Hospital for pretty much everything. Every single staff member was wonderful to me, and the care was first-rate. They were having dog-therapy day when we arrived, and there was a huge mutt the size of a Shetland pony coming down the corridor toward us when we first arrived, and Partner was immediately entranced. (Sadly, the dogs go off-shift at 3:00 pm.)

 

 

I have never been under complete anesthesia before. It was charming. I felt a kind of coldness in my arm, and heard the anesthesiologist telling me to “breathe deeply,” and – well, that was that.

 

 

The recovery room was also wonderful. There was another man my age who’d had something unpleasant done to him, and an older woman ditto. I was the least traumatized patient, and the staff were very kind to me as a result, because I was easy to deal with. (I was a lamb, actually. I’d been napping all day in preparation, and I was terribly dehydrated, so I was as weak as a kitten. They could have knocked me out with a wet Kleenex.)

 

 

Before the “procedure,” they made the mistake of giving me the binder that had my whole patient history in it. So I read it. Terrific. I find that I had “good hygiene” and appeared to be “well-groomed.” Naturally!

 

 

Also I have an abnormal T-wave in my EKG, and an enlarged left ventricle (I think I knew that), and – get this! – an ischemia.

 

 

I will hold this over Partner’s head for the rest of his life. Our favorite episode of “The King of Queens” involves Doug’s father-in-law, the unbearable Arthur Spooner (played by Jerry Stiller), having an ischemia, which sends him into conniptions whenever he’s frightened.

 

 

Nobody had better frighten me from now on. I might go into cardiac arrest.

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