The
serious pain in my head had dropped to a slight pressure inside my skull weeks
earlier, but the dreadful spinal taps just wouldn’t normalize. I’d lost a bit
of peripheral vision in my left eye, but at least, I could see just fine now. I
still couldn’t imagine I’d actually walked into the fuselage of the small plane
that had carried me the long distance to the hospital.
Relieved
that the dark chapter in my life was coming to an end, I determined to repeat
my pleadings for medical release to the neurosurgeon. The neurologist refused
to discharge me without his approval; I set my jaw to get it.
“Step
right over here,” the nurse said, pointing to the exam room. “Go ahead and take
off all but your underwear and sit on the table. Dr. Schultz* will be here in a
minute.
As
I began removing my clothing, Mom looked for the paper patient gown. “The nurse
forgot to set out the gown,” Mom said. “I don’t know if it’s okay or not, but
I’m going to try to find you one.”
I
looked over to see my little mother opening and closing drawers and cupboard
doors. Meanwhile, my nearly-naked body chilled with the over-enthusiastic air
conditioner.
I
moved the footstool close to the exam table and climbed aboard. Crossing my
arms in front of me did little to warm my freezing torso. My super-modest,
Australian Mom’s frustration could be measured by the exasperated murmurs
coming from the cupboard area.
“It’s
okay, Mom. He’s probably one of those whacky rich surgeons who didn’t spend the
money for patient gowns. Since it’s my eyes that are the issue, I’m not sure
why I even needed to undress, but it’s okay. I just want him to give me the
release to go home.”
When
the surgeon came through the door, my irritated mother wasted no time in
pointing out the absence of the patient gown. To which he simply said he
regarded such things as unnecessary. Though chilled to the bone, I restrained
my own sarcasm, figuring he’d not want to loan me his long sleeved shirt
anyway.
Following
the usual neuro exam—which by the way didn’t include anything that couldn’t be
done with a fully-clothed patient—I expressed my request for discharge. His
response let me know he’d been briefed on my pleadings to Dr. Roberts*.
“Yes,
I know. Let’s go out to the eye chart. You say you can see, but I want to know
just how much. The inside of your eyes doesn’t look like you should be seeing
much.”
“She’s
not going out there without her clothes!” said my mother.
I
laughed, hoping for the doctor’s sake that he didn’t object. Mom always said
that dynamite comes in small packages and this petite Mom chomped at the bit to
show him. I slipped off the table and headed for the stack of my clothes.
“Oh,
well, when you’re dressed come out in the hallway.” Dr. Shultz said, looking a
bit startled.
The
doctor acted like he’d not noticed I wasn’t dressed to parade myself through a
hallway open to the waiting room. Maybe he counted a gown unnecessary because
he never noticed the patient’s attire--or lack of it? I didn’t wait to find
out; I dressed as quickly as I could, but still shook from the cold.
Leaving
the exam room, I caught sight of Dr. Schultz near the eye chart at the end of
the hallway. A nurse pointed to a strip of tape on the carpet. “Stand here,”
she said.
As
soon as I’d set both toes on the strip and aligned myself with the chart, the
doctor began pointing to letters. One after the other, I correctly identified
the letter. Fortunately, I’d remembered to slip my glasses on before leaving
the exam room. With my corrective lenses in place, I had normal vision.
“Well,
I tell you; I can’t believe this! You really can see! I don’t know how, but
your vision seems normal now. I’d say it’s just a miracle.”
“You
think it’s a miracle?” I said, eyebrows raised but a huge smile on my face.
“There’s
no other way to explain it,” the doctor said while shaking his head and moving
away from the chart. “Let’s go back to the exam room.”
Hope
filled my heart. Today, I’d get that release approval; I just knew it. I
grabbed on to Mom’s arm and we walked back into the little room.
“So,
will you call Dr. Roberts, or do I need to wait for a paper to hand him to get
his release?”
“I’ll
call him, but I want you to have one more test first.”
“Not
another spinal tap,” I said with a groan. “Can’t you just take the results from
the one I had last week?”
“No,
I’m not talking about a spinal tap, yes; I’ll use the results from that one.
It’s a test you haven’t had yet.”
“But
why? I won’t get any better than I am right now, so why do I need anything
else? I really want to get back to work.”
“I
know, and if this one last test is okay, you can go. It’s important to be sure
we can’t localize the tumor that’s caused the problem in the first place.”
“Will
it be like the cerebral arteriogram? That was awful and I don’t ever want to go
through that again.”
“No,
this test doesn’t inject any dye. You will need to go to radiology again,
though.”
“When?
Can I do it today?” I knew a simple x-ray could be done with little notice,
didn’t take long to get the results, and I’d be willing to wait a couple of
hours in their waiting room if I could do it that same afternoon.
“I’ll
need to talk to the radiologist to see when he could do it. I can try to phone
him before you leave, but I can’t be sure he can schedule it right then. I may
need to get back to you.”
“Okay,
please call him. I’d like to get home and back to work next Monday.”
Unfortunately,
the specialized test required more lead time to schedule. I’d need to return to
the hospital’s Radiology Department on Monday. Had I known what awaited me
Monday, I’d have left for home right then.
*Names
changed.
Doctor said, 'A Miracle,' one of many in your life!
ReplyDeleteWing His Words,
Pam
Indeed, Pam, I've been blessed unbelievably in my life. I only wish it didn't require one have a crisis to get a miracle, smile.
ReplyDelete