The Egg-orcism - June, 2008

One night I had an itch on my left arm. When I went to scratch it, I discovered a lump just above my elbow. I don’t pay a lot of attention to my elbows – hell, I hardly ever bother to look at my hair from the back – so I immediately wondered if this was some anatomical thing I had never noticed while slathering skin cream on my elbows during the winter (see, it is all about moisturizing, isn’t it?). So I did what anyone else would do: I felt the right elbow, but found no similar protuberance.

Next, I did the logical thing, I checked with a professional: I called my sister, who, armed with a medical guide for parents, now fancies herself a medical consultant. Dermatology is my specialty, she explained, recommending that I go to the doctor. (“Hang up this phone right now and call the doctor,” is actually how she put it.)

Parenthetically speaking, one of the best things about retirement is that when the doctor’s office says, “Can you come tomorrow at 11:15?” I don’t have to say, “No, but I have an opening the day after Thanksgiving. What’s another six months anyway?”

So off I went to deal with the lump.

I showed my BFF (best friend forever) the lump. “It’s smaller than I thought,” BFF opined. “You sound disappointed,” I remarked. “It’s just that I was expecting something much bigger,” she explained. I had described it as the size of an egg. Was she thinking of a dinosaur egg? It’s large enough to me, I thought.

My doctor called it a tumor, almost certainly benign and with a long medical name I can’t remember but otherwise known as a lipoma. Let’s get down to basics – it’s FAT. I don’t have enough of that already on my hips and butt, the fat is now finding its way to my elbows? Great. She recommended I see a surgeon. “So that means it has to come out?” I queried, knowing full well the surgeon won’t want simply to admire it but will want to do what he does best – cut.

Off to the surgeon with my egg-shaped lump. Yes, it has to come out, he said (what a surprise!), and we send it to pathology for a look at the tissue. Same-day surgery, small incision, no big deal (sure, it’s not your arm, I thought). So now it’s off to pre-admission testing. I haven’t had this much pre-admission testing since I applied to college, but, thankfully, this time there was no math.

Tests (blood work, chest x-ray, EKG, echocardiogram, all at separate places at separate times) done, the day before the surgery comes a call from the hospital with a few questions for my paperwork. What follows are some of the questions along with the answers I would have liked to give, but, assuming little time or sense of humor prevailed, I restrained myself.

Question: Which arm?

Tina, thinking, “Good question, I like that they want to do this right. Only it’s the left.”

Question: Have you ever had one of the following: Hypertension, heart palpitations, heart attack, stroke..?

Tina, thinking, “Good. So far, no issues…”

Question: Diabetes, cancer, thyroid diseases, kidney problems, previous surgeries…?

Tina, thinking, “OK, honey, slow that list down, and how much time do you have today?”

Question: Do you know your height and weight?

Tina, thinking, “Yes, but I don’t wish to share them with you, unless we want to tell me after the surgery that this thing weighed 50 pounds, which would be A-OK with me.”

Question: Are you on a calorie-restricted diet?

Tina, thinking, “Did I not just have to reveal my weight? Would I weigh this much if I were on any kind of dietary restrictions? And besides, this is same-day surgery. Are we planning a celebration dinner for the coming out party?”

Question: Do you smoke?

Tina, thinking, “No, and I want extra credit for never having smoked.”

Question: Do you drink or abuse drugs?

Tina, thinking, “Who doesn’t drink? That’s not a yes or no question, but I don’t drink much. And as for drugs, did you not see the giant list of medication I am already taking? Who’d have time to use illegal drugs in addition to the prescriptions I’m already on?”

Question: “Do you have body piercings?”

Tina, thinking, “Didn’t I tell you I was 57 years old? Unless you are referring to pierced ears, no. No belly rings, no tongue rings, etc. Please. Did I mention I was 57 years old? I won’t even wear an ankle bracelet. It’s also safe to rule out tattoos, in case you were wondering.”

Question: “Have you been depressed or anxious over the past few weeks?”

Tina, thinking, “Well, not until you started asking me these questions.”

Despite the litany of questions asked in advance, the nurses had yet more queries for me upon arrival. One insisted I have a pregnancy test. For those keeping score, I went home without a lump or a bump, so that was for naught.

The anesthesiologist asked what the procedure would be. I showed him the lump and indicated it would be removed. “That’s all?” he asked. “Yep, that’s it for today,” I responded, wondering why he asked. By third time he asked, I was beginning to wonder what he had in mind. Had he noticed something else that ought to be done, as long as I would be under his spell anyway? You know, like when you are getting your house or car repaired and you get into one of those “while you’re there, you might as well…” routines. Or was there some kind of “buy one, get one free” promotion going on that I didn’t know about? All I know is that I went in for one thing, and just that one thing was done.

I had to sign papers advising me not to make any big decisions that day. Luckily, I had already decided on a turkey and cheese sandwich for dinner, so I could avoid all decisions of such magnitude for the rest of the day, unless you count deciding whether I’d nap on the new recliner or in bed (naps should NOT be in bed, I think; beds are for sleeping, not napping). I couldn’t do any heavy lifting or operate heavy machinery, but there’s no tractor on the north 40 that needed moving, so I am OK there, too. Luckily, this is my left elbow and I’m right handed, so the left arm is mostly along for the ride anyway, so I am in good hands, so to speak.

As for the surgery itself, it was my first same-day procedure other than a colonoscopy and much better than that, I assure you. In the hospital by 8 AM, had a nice dose of anesthesia to keep me pain-free and dopier than usual, and home at noon. The lump didn’t weigh nearly as much as I had hoped, so I can’t recommend out-patient surgery as a weight-loss routine.

All told, the egg-orcism was a big success, and a relatively good experience with the health care system. But how do I get the magic marker indicating the left arm off my skin? That should be my biggest problem.

I do love a happy ending.