June is gone, again, and July brings me to St. Peter's for what is blithely called Pre Admission Testing, PAT for short. I feel rather disgruntled because I don't feel like being a patient at an Albany hospital, so I'm biased to start with and that puts me in a mood where everything seems stupid. I've already gone through the telephone interview, have received instructions in the mail, so why I have to traipse all the way down there seems unnecessary to me. I had to have clearance from my primary doctor and cardiologist, and unless they plan to run any tests other than those already ordered, it's a wasted trip. Besides they could have sent a script, which I could have taken to a closer lab.
But compliance and I are one, so off I go to my 10:30 appointment. I know there is a shorter route, probably shorter by at least 5 miles or more, but I choose to go my established way, which is to take the Northway to the end, turn left on Western Ave, guided by the blue H signs until I turn right onto S. Manning. That street name is very familiar to me from all the years I went to school and then worked in Albany, but now it has a negative connotation, due to one of the heirs to the name. He who spent his whole life capitalizing on that name. But I dismiss the thought, driving straight through the intersection, and make the left turn into the St. Peter's parking garage, as I have done for years for my mammogram. The woman in the entrance booth, looking to be about 88 years old, asks where I'm going and I say to the hospital. She says where in the hospital and I tell her. She says I'm in the wrong parking area, and tells me I'll have to go out and around. I ask where am I to go, and she gives up and says ok, go ahead and park. We don't know what each other is talking about. I have to drive up several levels, though end up on what is labeled Level2, and right next to the elevator.
I remember too late that in my telephone interview, the nurse told me I could use Valet Parking. Oh, well. I take the elevator to the ground floor, and cross the roadway into the hospital. The makeover has left it looking very attractive, I do say, and the ground floor is full of the smells of the coffee shop located there. I take the elevator up one floor, and locate the PAT section. Everything is well marked, and there are plenty of information booths as well as helpful attendants circling the premises. Everything has gone fairly smoothly, and I am right on time. The entire floor is suffused with the smell of pizza, from the new food court pizza place, a good odor if you're ready for lunch, not so much if it's still morning and you are on an empty stomach pending blood testing. I wait behind the privacy line for only a minute or so before the woman behind the counter calls me over, saying she would have called me sooner but she had a banana in her mouth and couldn't talk. TMI, I think, but I remain civil while she registers that I am indeed present. Any questions? I try to clear up the parking snafu, and ask her where to access the Valet Parking. She says she can't answer because she doesn't have a good sense of direction, but that she will show me later on. OK. I go into the bloodletting room, and the nurse there called me sweetheart at least 3 times, and I could have punched her out. Even before she had difficulty drawing my blood and said it was because I had a lot of scar tissue. No one has ever told me that before, and I think she was just finding a reason for her difficulty.
I then had to wait, for too long a time, all by myself for the interview with the nurse consultant. After a while, Nurse Nancy, for that was her name, called me in for the assessment. Same old, same old---health history, meds, abuse situation questions----could have been done on the phone if you ask me. She did comment that I was very honest, because my weight was exactly the same as was registered on the 2 scales. She said most people understate their weight. I'd love to weigh less or at least have people think I weigh less, but I sure don't want to throw off the formula for anesthesia which I believe to be based on body weight.
Nancy was professional and pleasant; I learned she was menopausal though, could have skipped over that. During the part of the interview that dealt with anesthesia, I thought to ask a question which has been on my mind: How is it possible to be "awake and responsive" during surgery, but have no memory of it when you are fully awake? She said doctors consider a patient under general anesthesia to be totally unconscious, but if a regional or epidural anesthesia is used, the patient's body can respond but the mind is not awake. I've always felt that it's not possible for a patient to have been aware during the procedure and than have no memory of it later. She confirmed my belief, or so I think.
No comments:
Post a Comment