Definitely feeling worse to hopefully feel better

My wife had a procedure done recently. It’s quite technical, they tell me. I don’t fully understand it and frankly, I’m not sure I want to. I just want to know it’s going to make her feel better.

This week’s events have been years in the making. Activity picked up steam a year ago when her annual physical turned to a fire drill, like the kind from third grade even the teachers didn’t know about. We hurried from the 11th floor of the medical tower to the 9th floor where the big machine was housed. She drank some nasty stuff, took her place in the big metal tube and tried to sleep. After they woke her, we took the freight elevator back to the 11th floor (she’s quite the rebel at times) to share the scans with the doctor. “Hmm”, she grunted. For those that have ever heard that noise from a doctor, you know the next possibilities: 1) ‘oops, we scanned the wrong part’ 2) ‘that’s interesting. That’s not supposed to be there', 3) 'I have no idea' or 4) 'clear your calendars. Life just changed forever’. Since we’ve been married, we’ve heard all four. This day landed us with #3: "have a great weekend.” Utterly perplexed, I stopped Dr. Scarlett: “what do you mean ‘have a good weekend’. An hour ago, you told us we were going for surgery and now you’re telling us to go for tacos? What are we supposed to do now? She’s still in pain.” “I don’t know” was the best she could offer.

The following week, we found a specialist who ordered more nasty stuff and scans. Nothing. Next up, we went to a doctor from the past. While not necessarily related to the systems or region of the pain, she was a trusted advisor and I’ll take a trusted guess over informed apathy any day. Dr. Plum had seen us in good moments and in bad. She had given us good news and bad. She even told us about the icky parts. She had known our stories and knew my wife as a person. Dr. Plum offered another option.

After nine months of fighting insurance and appeals we were ready to give up. Nine months is enough time to make a tiny human, but not process paperwork evidently. We went back to Dr. Plum who, once again, expressed empathy and offered another option.

Dr. Green saw us immediately and held my wife’s hand as he read a years worth of scans. It was all so very paternal. ‘From my view, this is pretty straightforward. We can do this, no problem.’ “Will it make the pain stop,’ I questioned, pretending to read the scans with the same accuracy as the Engineer-turned M.D. “This is medicine. Nothing is guaranteed”. Great.

As my wife collected her thoughts to go back to work, Dr. Green and I stepped into his office to talk logistics and probabilities and pneumatics and money. Always money. He listened to me complain, defending the system where he needed to and pouring on to my frustration as well, both in an attempt to calm me with empathy. “We’ll take care of her. I promise,” he assured me.

My wife and I debriefed that evening.

‘it all feels so sudden,’ she mused.

‘We’ve been at this longer that it took you to make babies. How is that sudden?’

'I mean, it’s all been paperwork to this point, but now it’s real. They’re actually going to cut me’

Yeah, a scalpel tends to make things real.

So we did it. We found the money. Dr. Green found the thing and fixed the pneumatics and assured me that she did great. (I’ve always wondered why doctors say that about patients under anesthesia. Seems that the narcotics take away their agency, but digress).

‘When will she feel better,’ I asked when we debriefed after the procedure.

‘Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. Except for the next 10 days where you’ll be really uncomfortable, but otherwise tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.’

Thanks Doc. I appreciate the clarity.

I asked her how she felt today.

“Worse” seemed honest enough. “I definitely feel worse. Hopefully, I’ll feel better,” she offered.

“Probably definitely. That’s what the doc said when you were under the influence,” I reminded her.

‘He also told me I was not allowed to clean the house for six months, remember. He said that after I woke up. I remember that.’

Thanks Doc.