...If you don't get the reference... you're not missing much.
So, some of you who are blessed to be on my Messenger list have been wondering about my status message the last few days; to save time, I'm going to explain the whole story, in segments.
First, the backstory.
A couple of years ago, in December, I had bronchitis. Really, really bad bronchitis.
My then-boss, a swell guy, told me not to die until I clocked out. I can feel the love; and yet people seriously ask me why I left there to go work for my current employers.
What I didn't realize for a month or two afterwards was that the bronchitis had given me a great gift.
You see, the bronchitis had caused my tonsils to inflate, like balloons, to immense, throat-blocking proportions. This didn't affect me in the least while awake, but when asleep...
...Anyway, I started to get fatigued; drowsy; nearly narcoleptic. I began having more and more difficulty driving, doing anything less-than active, and staying awake at work.
So, I went to my doctor, and begged for help. He sent me to a sleep study, and you may remember what happened there.
That's right; thanks to the two giant boulders in my throat, I had developed obstructive sleep apnea; a condition in which, thanks to your airway being blocked, at night you snore - and stop breathing.
Sleep Lab Guy definitely used the word "die."
So, time to get this fixed, right?
Right, except that while my previous employer's health insurer was willing (after a lot of grinding away at them about it) to pay for a C-PAP breathing machine for me, they weren't willing to pay for corrective surgery.
My current employers' insurer, however, said outright that they would be delighted to help me get all fixed up, as sleep apnea and its associated drowsiness is a safety hazard, so, getting this "repaired" instead of "treated" became a real option.
At this point I have had apnea for 2 years.
So, I went off to get "consulted," and got scheduled for surgery; on Friday the thirteenth, I will be having my tonsils, adenoids, and a chunk of my soft palate removed.
On Friday the thirteenth.
At the worst hospital in Pennsylvania.
By a doctor I've met once.
It's a good thing I'm not superstitious, eh?
So I went for my pre-surgical workup today, and I had to deal with something that is the bane of my fucking existence: nurses.
I want to note here, that I have the utmost respect for members of the medical profession, and their expertise; y'all are good, and stuff.
But seriously, you guys.
I have lived in this body for 33 years. I'm quite familiar with it. If I tell you something along the lines of "You can't get a vein there, you have to do it in the back of my hand," I'm not saying it just to jerk your fucking chain, ok?
You are not the One True Nurse who can magically find a vein in my elbow.
Really.
So what happens today?
"Ok, let me just get you ready..."
"Right, you can't get a vein in my elbow. Just take the blood from the back of my hand, ok?"
"Oh, I'll get it, it'll be ok."
"No, really. There's no trick you can do that will make my veins work from my elbow."
"Just relax, I'll have it in a second,"
...And she proceeded to fish around in my arm with the needle until my wife had to leave the room, at which point I took the needle away from her.
"Did that hurt?"
"Only when you went fishing. Do it in my hand, hmmm?"
...All that could have been avoided entirely if you would simply have followed my freaking instructions. Why do nurses all hate me so much?
...So, anyway, wish me luck for Friday; I have all of next week off work, which I hope will be enough, and we are stocked up on cold juice.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment