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.

Signs of the Times - October, 2007

Remember the good old days, when practically the only restriction inhibiting us was “Keep Off the Grass?” Those days are long gone. Now, even a walk on grass (where permitted, of course) is accompanied by reading material, instructing you what to do with dog waste, the hours of the park, where you can park your car to go for a walk, where to deposit your non-dog trash, ad nauseum.

I recently saw a sign at a strip mall that read, “No skating, skateboarding, heelies, shoes with wheels, no littering or loitering.” I guess they forgot the “No fun” warning. Or they could simply have said, “Welcome senior citizens.”

Read fast when you are driving, or you might be in the express lane with no chance to exit, or you might be in the EZ Pass lane without EZ Pass on your windshield. Or, God forbid, you might be enjoying a leisurely ride in the carpool lane outside posted hours. When you park, make sure it isn’t in a “No Parking, Stopping or Standing Zone.” If your car breaks down, don’t do it on the highway where there are “No Shoulder” signs. And if you have to use a restroom on the road, beware the rest stops that warn “No Facilities Available.” I guess when they say rest stop, they really mean REST.

For that matter, if you do find a bathroom, please heed the instructions. Place your hands under the faucet to get the water to start, and under the paper towel dispenser to grab a towel for drying them – unless there is a dryer, and when you must “Shake off excess water and rub hands quickly to dry” (by the way, this never works for me). Don’t flush the sanitary products: “Dispose of Sanitary Products in Receptacles” at all times.

If you are at the doctor’s office, there’s no need to worry about having enough reading material while you wait. Just read the plethora of signs posted around the office windows. “Payment Is Expected at Time of Service.” Translation: “Give us your money and then you can sit down and wait an hour. That way, if you get fed up and leave, we have your co-pay.” If you are stuck there waiting, don’t even think about using your cell phone to let someone know, because “Cell Phone Use is Prohibited.” And you better show up with your referral, because “You Are Responsible for Obtaining Your Referral in Advance of Your Appointment.” While you’re at it, you had better be sure you “Notify Us of Any Changes in Your Insurance,” and, if you need a prescription refilled, at least one doctor’s office I visit advises you to ask for the RX live and in person, because “We No Longer Call or Fax Prescriptions to the Druggist.” But my favorite sign, in the same office, was one that warmly welcomed patients, with “Please Sign In and Take a Seat. You May Not Ask a Question Until Your Name Is Called.” No bedside manner in this place, unless you count the word “Please.” So let me get this straight: I have to show up, sign-in, not speak, have my referral and the names (and dosages) of any drugs I need with me, pay in advance, give them my insurance information and not talk on my cell phone. I barely had time to read everything before they called me in. In fact, it took more time for me to read the posted signs than to see the doctor.

I picture a future in which we find a sign that says: “Please Line Up Here to Wait for the Apocalypse.” On second thought, it may be too late.