shining brightly, illuminating the snow on the spruce and birch trees. The Christmas tree takers have now taken their quota, so the woods are again quiet.
After the walks, I tended to the animals, got a pile of stuff ready to go, and went with Pete to the local hospital. It is quite interesting; we are now at an age in which it is recommended that this procedure be done. It makes age 50 a sort of rites of passage. Mention that you are having this done to anyone over this age, and they will say they went through it. All say that the pre-procedural stuff is the worst. We didn’t hear much more than this because for most, there isn’t much to say. You check in, you check out, and you wake up. Then you turn 51.
I went to the cafeteria after Pete was admitted to surgery and wrote a handful of Christmas cards. I mentioned to most in my yearly message that Pete was having this done. I figured that it would add an interesting twist to an otherwise boring holiday greeting.
An hour and a half later, I went back to the surgery waiting room, and was told that Pete was in recovery. So I immediately was able to see him. He was asleep. The RN, named Leisel, was an extremely nice person who first laughed at my jokes. Then, when Pete came to, she laughed at his jokes. She also monitored all the things that needed monitoring, and was attentive to Pete’s mental state, which for some time was groggy.
The photos of Pete’s colon were sitting on the table next to the bed. I went over and took a close look at them. I was surprised that Liesel didn’t say anything about this. I mean, I said I was Pete’s wife; however, I could have been an interloper of some kind. I knew in looking at the eight very small pictures that Pete’s colon was looking good. Maybe this is because I’ve seen these sorts of things in veterinary texts.
Pete came back to consciousness fast, like he does in the mornings. He was surprised that he didn’t remember what the doctor did. He kept saying that the last thing he remembered was going under. The doctor, who appeared momentarily, said that Pete said that he wanted to go home and eat pancakes. Pete, of course didn’t remember this.
The memory loss stuff intrigues me. I find it amazing that they can now give you a drug that leaves one semi-conscious, but without a later memory of what happened. I also find this to be somewhat disturbing.
We were both, of course, relieved to find that nothing was amiss for two reasons. The first is no one wants to have to deal with the consequences of bad health news. The second was that had anything been determined to be amiss, that this hospital visit would have been considered to be a diagnostic rather than what it turned out to be, which is a preventative screening visit. This would then have cost us our deductible, $2,500 – the price of a new saddle.
I drove us home. Fortunately, the roads were just fine. We stopped at Turkey Red and had dinner. As I write this, Pete is sound asleep. The question that is now hanging in the air is, when am I going to have this done? The answer is, sometime soon, but not right away. I’ll wait until the weather gets a bit warmer because I don’t relish having to make repeated trips to the outhouse in sub-zero temperatures.
Next: 277: 12/18/13: Follow Through