Part 68 Esophageal procedure: take 4 (but wait…)


Dr. Bu- tells me there is no need for any more chemotherapy! He also reiterates that my esophageal problems are not related to radiation. I continue to differ with the experts. I was there and saw the results of the diffusion of the rays. I also did not have previous swallowing problems or reflux that would indicate esophageal distress; the prospect that I coincidentally inherited this problem right when radiation was administered seems too much for me to believe. We agree, though, that I suffered a probable TIA because of the Demerol.

I wake up early Friday morning in mid July with a fever of 101.3. My neck is red and swollen. I have my fourth procedure set for this morning downtown, this time monitored in the hospital directly across from Dr. Ra-’s office. I am already anxious about this operation, now I am physically ill to boot. We call Dr. Bu-, who suggests we head downtown anyway. At 9:30 we arrive and spend some time in the endoscopy room. The nurses’ faces are different. A tall, stocky, wavy-haired nurse named Marie is very kind and, with the help of the others, including some who quickly stride by but still make time to waive to me, I soon feel more at ease. Dr. Ra- finally arrives, giving me bad news; I have cellulitis – nothing to worry about – but I will have to wait a few days for the procedure. I feel lousy, as I had almost psyched myself for all of this. I will have to stay in the hospital for IV antibiotics and monitoring. Becah stays at my side until 8:00 that night – it takes that long to get a room!

Saturday morning I am visited by the infectious disease specialist. The origin of my disease is unknown, but the antibiotics should knock it out soon. Of course, this is Saturday, Dr. Ra- will not be back until Monday, so I am here for the weekend. I am in a surprisingly good mood under the circumstances. At night I watch The Godfather 2 until 9:00, then realize I have not received any food in a while and call the nurse. At 11:30, despite repeated requests prior to that time, a quirky, absentminded, but still very friendly nurse finally arrives with my Ensure. I am starving and all too aware of my dwindling weight and how much I need the nourishment now. I require feeding assistance now that my left hand is still on the blink, or I would of course be doing this myself, but I must instead lie here while she carefully fills the plastic syringe again and again, slowly injecting the contents into the tube following, until I get a sufficient amount of liquid. Occasionally the liquid spills on me, but I have taken the precaution of placing a towel to catch the spill. I have also learned to always ask for vanilla, because chocolate stains worse and, since it is going through a tube, the taste is irrelevant. Fortunately I entertain myself by watching the original King Kong. It takes most of the movie for her to feed me. No wonder she was so late, probably envisioning having to drag through all this. I imagine other patients are grumbling right now that she has been so long in my room.

My good mood slips a little on Sunday, but I am still okay. I often have songs running through my head (some good, some bad, some positive, some sad). Today the beautiful classic “Clair de Lune” by Debussy creeps in, and I try to hold it. Becah and the kids come by in the early afternoon, and I am overjoyed to see them.



Part 69 Now, take 4


Monday finally arrives. I am to fast all day, very disheartening since the operation is scheduled for 3:30 in the afternoon (note to everyone having surgery: do it at 6:00 a.m., when you are still drowsy and not starving). Becah’s friend Jeanette returns to be her shoulder to lean on. I am scared in the waiting room, but trying to be brave. I am actually more nervous when the two of them come in to talk to me, remembering what happened last time. Although I see myself as having no choice but to do this, I am unsure that I am physically and psychologically ready. The lack of food only makes matters worse, and it is all I can do to try to temporarily distract myself from being hungry.

The new anesthesiologist introduces himself and after repeated reminders he assures me for the final time that he will not expose me to Demerol. Dr. Ra- finally strolls in, smiling confidently, grasping a hand and saying to me that everything will be fine. Marie and the other nurses have offered me their support, making small talk and joking all the while. “Clair de Lune” plays on in my head. I think about family and life and other big subjects as they wheel me into the procedure room. It is now 4:45. I am famished, my head is full, and I am ready.