Having endured a partial nephrectomy, and calculating my odds given two bouts of cancer, I decided to retire in January of 2020. There was a plan, a real plan, to be in Europe for the largest part of this year. Human beings plan to their hearts content, life intervenes. In my case Covid-19 intervened. The trip was first moved then cancelled. We’ll see what the world looks like in three months before making further plans.
Given my surgery was on October 1, 2019 I would have been up for my six-month post-op MRI on April 1, 2020. Because the plan was to be in Portugal on that date, the doctor okayed a delay in conducting the test until June 2020. When the trip fell apart there really was no reason to move up the test. April was right in the middle of the first wave of the coronavirus. Who wanted to be near any medical facility in April? Not me. Nope. No sir.
Just like last year at this time I had all my follow-up medical appointments bunched together. Last year the CAT scan that discovered the tumor occurred after my very last routine visit with my doctors. This year over the course of seven days I have had six medical encounters set. Five of them have jumped to tele-med visits. The only one that could not be conducted with a dual video feed was the MRI. I decided I would just suck it up and go to the hospital on the date set, June 19th. My wife Francie would come along and would sit in the car. They won’t let you leave without a responsible adult if you are sedated in any manner.
The process was a little daunting.
Now understand I have had MRIs before. Sometimes I can handle them and, on some occasions, I flip out and have a panic attack. I mean I don’t go batshit crazy but I start pressing that little button and I repeat that mantra, “Get me out of here, get me out of here.” Because of this I requested twilight sedation. Because of the use of Vercid as the sedating agent, I had to be at the hospital early, an hour early. We departed East Lansing with about 10 minutes of wiggle room. The plan was to be at the hospital at 10 am for an 11 am procedure.
Well, 10 minutes of wiggle room would have been fine except for the fact that 1000 feet beyond the first Brighton exit traffic came to a complete gridlock standstill. A hurried call was placed to the U of M Oncology Radiology department. A very kind voice told me that my wiggle room ended at 10:20 because of the use of the Vercid. Sitting there just past Exit 145 it seemed very unlikely I would have my MRI that day.
Well luck was with us, a couple of kind motorists allowed us to go from the far-left lane over to the far-right lane and to the access road to US-23 and Ann Arbor. As we passed along the road, we could see no reason for the gridlock. But the southbound route was following freely. We got to the door of the MRI facility at 10:05.
From the security guard at the door into the hospital to the techs talking to be as I was prone on the MRI table, everyone was wearing masks. Comfortingly were the repeated questions asked about my health status. 97% of the process was touchless. Only when they put the IV to administer the contrast agent and the Vercid in did I touch anyone. At that moment the folks prodding me were wearing gloves.
Ann Arbor is different. When I got into the MRI room and got situated, they offered me headphones because of the noise involved. They told me what the default playlist was. Yawn, no. I asked if they had a Grateful Dead playlist. Absolutely was the response. So, there I was in in the gapping jaws of the whirring tube, blissed out by two milligrams of Vercid listening to the Grateful Dead. I did get yelled at because I did breathe in and hold my breath at the right time. Hey I was deep into the Dead’s greatest hits, I got confused. After the fact the staff told me that about 1 in 10 men ask for the Grateful Dead playlist. Chuckle.
From start to finish, cleanliness and propriety was the watchword. I was impressed that the staff from the security guards to the MRI techs kept their masks on. It was good to see that other patients were wearing masks and using hand sanitizer. Covid 19 has made this a different world. Thankfully some people are willing to acknowledge this fact and live appropriately.
V had brain surgery (again) on 5/12, as Florida’s hospitals eagerly reopened for “elective” procedures. Went well, but she had to be alone throughout, which was NOT fun for either of us. So we share your concerns. But, given it was early in the “reopening” (which has now proven to be a (not too funny) joke), the hospital was incredibly sterile & sanitation concerned. About everyone who was anywhere near the place! Here’s hoping to a “clean” report, my friend. And, as my mother frequently lamented, “growing old is truly NOT for sissies”! Love you, my friend.
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