Fix Me.

Ever have three impending surgeries between yourself and your offspring when all you really want to do is just carry on with normal life? Me neither, until now. One of them is a definite go, one is a maybe which I’ll find out Tuesday and the other one most likely won’t happen if I get my way. Grab a cup of tea and settle in for four minutes or less as I paint a surgical picture similar to the work of Van Gogh.

This Tuesday business is what has sort of kept me from returning to work after a back injury six weeks ago. I’ve had a bulge near my midsection the past six months and not the kind of bulge I’d prefer to reference. My umbilical hernia is back, this being the third time in ten or so years.

I had to wait months to see this doc and fingers crossed, he deems it nothing to worry about then I can return to work and that’s that, though still bulgy. If he says it needs proper surgery and he can get me in in a matter of days then that is what shall goeth down. There’s no pain and no leaking this time but it’s just not right. Chances are I’ll need the surgery but due to covid it’ll be months from now.

Lurking in the middle of my two surgeries is this questionable window to attack if need be on my daughters’ immune systems. The docs are pushing for bone marrow transplants but nothing is set nor has it been proven they really need this. I’m full fledged against it. They want to kill their current immune systems with chemotherapy, involving hospitalizations of at least three months and followed by months of near daily visits to check up on their progress.

Sure, the end product sounds fantastic: new immune systems. But at what cost? Months of sickness and pain and living in a hospital, all the while the entire thing is one big gamble? Ya, I’ll take a hard pass. If they were dying and needed it to survive then my ears are open. But now, in what could be truly considered their moment of picture perfect health? I’m out. Deep left out. And right.

And last and definitely not least there creeps my sleep apnea fix surgery. I am told the doc has done hundreds of thousands of these and the success rate is around 66%. This means that compared to 0% right now my apnea will be 66% better. I like the sound of this and have signed up months ago, and I now wait on the ol’ waiting list for approximately a year from now.

There’s only one slight problem. As it gets closer I’m probably going to be wanting to be knocked out because what lies ahead does not sound like any fun. It’s a three part procedure all done at the same time. I haven’t heard the schpiel in a while so excuse my lack of professional medical jargon.

Firstly, he basically performs a tonsillectomy but instead of removing them he’ll sew them to the roof of my mouth, creating a larger airway for this big boy. Secondly, he breaks my jaw, pulls it out forward “like a drawer”, turns it, pushes it back in then puts a bolt in. Still conscious? I sure as heck won’t be. Finally, the good doc will slice open my throat somewhere near the voice box and adjust something in there. I’m sorta terrified to wake up and sound like Alvin the Chipmunk for the rest of my adult life though he has assured me otherwise.

The healing process for this cut ‘n run involves extreme throat pain for about three weeks and well off the charts pain when swallowing. Eating won’t even be a thing for a few weeks (fat loss victory lap anyone?). All in all it sounds like sheer hell and the invited type, to boot. But to me, it will be worth it. I think.

Again, all this stuff is up in the air. Might it all just blow over? Fingers crossed for two out of the three to be. I guess at the end of the day or in this case at the end of the surgery we are better. Fixed. Enhanced. And we move on until life’s next hilarious life threatening joke comes down the pipeline.

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