Technology—Primavera, Amazonas, Brazil and Silver Spring, Maryland
Old Things

Major Minor Surgery

Three weeks from today I will have what the nurse practitioner called major minor surgery. I will have the growth that is causing calcium to leach from my bones removed from my parathyroid gland. It's called major minor because although the surgery is quick and usually does not require an overnight stay in the hospital, there are things like vocal chords nearby so it takes a skilled surgeon to do it well.

Yesterday was my pre-op visit. During the pre-op appointment, they check to see if there is anything else wrong that might preclude the surgery. They take blood, do an EKG and ask endless questions.

I had thought I was pretty cool about my upcoming surgery, but now that it is getting closer, I am thinking about it more, at least sub-consciously. For example, on the night before my pre-op appointment, I dreamed that I overheard a conversation in an elevator. Two people were talking about my surgeon. I had consulted two physicians before choosing this surgeon; I had met with him and liked him, and he has an excellent reputation. According to the two people in my elevator dream, he had died. I was greatly relieved when I woke up.

My appointment with the nurse practitioner yesterday started out really well, i.e., she asked me my age, and when I told her, she was taken aback. She couldn't believe I was 71, so she said. (I wonder if she does that with all her patients.) Then she proceeded to ask me all the questions that I had already painfully answered on a form as I sat in the waiting room. That seemed like a waste of my time or hers.

Anyhow, I seemed to have passed the tests so it looks like a go. Now I just want it to be over.

And I want no more dreams about elevators.



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