Do-Over

It can be argued – though I won’t argue it here – that Science is the religion of twenty-first century America. Be it the tremendous advances from medical research, the dogma of global warming – excuse me, climate change, whatever that is – and evolution, the visual awe of space exploration, you name it, in this culture we are saturated in it. No one is immune, not even priests and religious, not even the most devout of practitioners. It’s just the sea we swim in. It’s in the air we breathe. We expect answers from our High Priests of Science.

So imagine my frustration, and that of my wife and my family members, when Science and these High Priests cannot solve our problems. The results of my CT scan came back yesterday, and I got a call from my doctor. My left pulmonary vein has almost closed up, again. In fairness to their ignorance, they did give this a bold 50/50 chance of happening. We will have to repeat the procedure of ballooning it open, this time with a larger balloon, and then play the waiting game, again.

What causes this, I asked him, as I have in the past.

We don’t know.

What can prevent this from happening again?

We don’t know.

What can I do to keep myself healthy so the vein doesn’t close up?

We don’t know.

Will I be on drugs again? (I hated being on toprol and coumadin.)

We don’t know.

Will I be billed for this?

Ah, that they know the answer to.

It’s amazing what these guys don’t know about my condition. I feel as if I’m a guinea pig. Wait, I think I am. I get the sense that I’ve been written up in papers and published in journals as Patient X. And I’m not getting any royalties or at least a fee for using my case. I can see a dozen doctors in the cafeteria, munching on their salads and veggie wraps, my X-rays, lung VQ scans, and CT scans scattered about the tables, with much pointing and chin-scratching. My doctor’s thinking about how to parlay this into a marketing bonanza for his department in the hospital.

So I’m waiting for a call to see when the next procedure can be scheduled. It will probably be sooner rather than later. But it shouldn’t be an ordeal like last February was for me. Just an hour job, local anesthesia, an overnight stay, and discharged the next day, walking on my own two feet. Still, though, I get queasy and nervous at the thought of anything invasive, and having myself drugged up and out. Now every twinge and pinch of pain in my left side sends my mind racing – is that blood rupturing an artery in my lung? I just hope and pray that this time’s the last time it will have to be done.

When this is all over and done with I’m of half a mind to spend a dozen hours and get a website up and running detailing all the ins and outs of this crazy ordeal I’ve been through, beginning in the Spring of 2006 and still continuing, now, going into the Summer of 2009. If it helps a single person, as they say, it would be worth it.