Here we go again!


Just got the news—another TACE! And this time, maybe they will actually be able to give me some general anesthesia! All that “Exhale and…don’t breathe….don’t breathe…don’t breathe…don’t breathe” stuff! I was turning blue! “Sometimes, they forget,” admitted Christie, the leggy nurse-practitioner who spoke with me afterwards.

The good thing about general anesthesia is that I don’t have to struggle to restrain from breathing. They can just stop that hissy-wheezy pump-air-into-my-lungs thing for as long as they like, and I won’t feel any distress at all!

Oh, wait…. “Sometimes they forget.” Maybe I should draw a big sign on my leg saying: “Remember: I WILL DIE WITHOUT OXYGEN! Turn on the hissy-wheezy thing!”

Other bad things about TACE:

  • They have to shave your groin on one side. I’m not a “Oh, no! My bikini area is an absolute jungle! Better get a wax” kind of guy.
  • Last time I got a bruise the size of Rhode Island. I suppose when someone punches a hole in your femoral artery, that’s the best you can expect.
  • Nursing assistants who look straight out of high school will be inspecting your ‘private area.’ I guess they have to make sure all my male parts are still there. “Sometimes they forget…”
  • I’ll have to spend the night in UAB Hospital, stuck in bed with nurses waking me up all night to make sure I’m still alive. And there was that bitchy male nurse who didn’t like me. The last person you’d want ramming a catheter up your ding-a-ling so of course, that’s just what he did. Murphy’s Law, more reliable than the Law of Gravity.

But on the plus side:

  • UAB Hospital is kind of nice. Most of the staff are perky and so friendly! The rooms are pleasant. And instead of having to eat whatever a nurse brings you on a tray, you can order your bland, tasteless hospital food from Room Service. And insurance pays for it all! “I’ll have the ratatouille niçoise, s’il vous plaît!”
  • Oh, and I almost forgot: This might actually get rid of that blasted tumor once and for all!

Keep those cards and letters coming, and keep me in your prayers. Or if you prefer, conduct a bizarre, orgiastic Wiccan ritual to send the Goddess’ healing power my way; I’m flexible.

Till next time, “May all your showers be golden!”

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