There Has GOT to Be An Easier Way

To find out I don’t have COVID-19

It finally happened. This afternoon a reassuring lady with crinkling eyes that indicated she was smiling behind her mask and clear plastic face shield steadily pushed a swab up my nose and not quite into my brain but it felt close.

My first COVID test. The results (Not Detected) came back in under eight hours so I’m good to go for my “procedure” in the morning. Said procedure? I’m having my gallbladder removed due to a sizeable stone that keeps floating around and blocking the neck of the bladder. Which hurts. A lot.

To be clear, I was ok not knowing. But I have to admit that I feel oddly relieved under the nerves and anxiety.

They call this thing they’re going to do to my poor, unsuspecting body tomorrow a procedure, not an operation. It’s actually an outpatient procedure called Robotic/Laparoscopic Cholecystectomy. I don’t know about anyone else but those words are just creepy AF to me. The whole thing creeps me out. They’re going to make four “small” incisions in my upper abdomen and somehow suck the gallbladder with its annoying little stone out of me. At least I’ll be unconscious for that part of the party. All 45 minutes of it.

This all unfolded in less than 18 hours. I had the video consultation with the surgeon yesterday afternoon and this morning I got a call from the hospital pharmacy asking me to confirm the time for my procedure tomorrow. News to me!

The reason for this unseemly haste is the ridiculous health care system in The Greatest Country in the World.

A year ago my position at a prestigious local medical college was eliminated. To their credit, they did provide me with an extra year of pretty top of the line health care insurance for which I simply continued paying my modest contribution while they paid the lion’s share. For a year now, AleXander and I have had it cushy with good health care insurance. But as the deadline approached we both began amping up the necessities that won’t be so thoroughly covered under his Medicare and my upcoming Bronze plan that goes into effect on November 1.

When the surgeon heard this and saw correspondence going back to August between me and the gastroenterologist who’s gone AWOL he put on his superhero cape and somehow managed to get me on the schedule for tomorrow morning. This means that the entire procedure is covered. 100%. No patient contribution.

Today I got the call at 11am asking me to be at the hospital’s COVID-testing facility in an hour. After that, I went for an EKG and then it was time for blood work. That hematologist was a total whiz! I hope whoever sticks the needle into me tomorrow is that good. I didn’t feel a thing.

And that’s what my nerves and anxiety are all about. I don’t want to feel a thing!

After the nice drugs wear off, this is going to hurt. For days, even weeks. I don’t like hurting. It’s no accident that prescription pain killers were my preferred poison. But here I am. It’s got to happen and I’m going to pull on my big girl panties, the frilly ones, and just show up on time in the morning. No food after midnight and one glass of water before 7:30am tomorrow. Ok. Yep, I can do this.

Because it only took me nearly three decades to do things I don’t want to do.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

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