Modern Medicine

You'll soon realize this was written before the pandemic. 

I recently had a procedure done at the local hospital. Nothing serious; I’m very healthy but I have a throat like a chicken. 

I have put off having this done for some time, despite my physician’s counsel. The procrastination didn't happen because it was painful, but because recovery takes an entire day. No driving for 24 hours: Who will run to IGA when we’re out of the pediatric staple of the Sankey household (ketchup)? Even worse than that, the procedure requires no food, drink or even water after midnight the night before: A request that seemed quite impossible since I prefer to snack every hour on the hour. 

I had the same procedure done seven years ago, just weeks before Cody and I wed, and to be completely honest, it is a wonder he went on to marry me after witnessing me on drugs. I don’t do well under anesthesia, and hours after that endoscopy I actually tried to cut off my beloved dog’s tail. I remember nothing of this, which is terrifying. After that day, I told myself I’d never put Cody through that again. Fast forward a few years and few choking events later, and we again sat in the waiting room.

I’m an optimist, so of course, I found the silver lining to an outpatient trip to the hospital: for 20 minutes I would have uninterrupted sleep. No tears that needed to be addressed because a pacifier fell between the wall and the crib and no screams because there is a werewolf in the closet. Just rest. Drug-induced-met-our-health-insurance-deductible-in-February, rest. It would be the expensive and short kind, but I’ll take rest in any form these days. 

My appointment time finally arrived, and I rested beneath an oxygen mask, wondering about the last time I laid in a bed and just waited for something, with no phone, no bunk mates kicking me, no to-do list looming in my head. All I was able, and expected, to do was wait. It felt so strange, so out of my control, yet a few minutes of quiet was probably what I needed. 

However, this afforded me the unfortunate opportunity to listen to the man in the prep room next door (separated by a curtain) give far too much detail when asked what his last bowel movement looked like. Those are things you can’t unhear. 

The nurse then brought Cody to the tiny fabric room and just having him close made me feel at ease before we began. Then, his phone rang and I had to listen to a conversation regarding a beef bull’s testicles freezing due to frigid temps in North Dakota and how that will affect semen production and supply for the approaching breeding season. 

“Just put me out of my misery, already,” I thought to myself. 

That call ended and his phone rang, again. It was daycare. Cyrus had a fever. He needed to be picked up immediately. As Cody tried to work through the logistics of finding someone to pick up Cyrus within an hour, be present for my procedure and around to visit with the doctor afterward, as well as buy a bull in Montana over the phone for work, I laid there, being of no help to anyone, and quite convinced that I simply did not have time for the nervous breakdown I deserve. 

Moments later they swept me through the curtain door, ushered me into a sterile, bright room and asked me about raising kids on a farm. Finally, a conversation of which I could get on board. 

The next thing I know, I’m waking up to Cody asking me how I felt. 

It was easy. 

It was fast. 

It was over.

We were home with a sick toddler within an hour. Life was back to normal within twelve hours and within 24 hours my snacking habits had recovered fully. 

Isn’t modern medicine grand?