On Monday I had a minor surgery. I know what you are thinking..."minor surgery. Is there such a thing?" Well, before Monday I definitely believed in surgical gradations. And then, once I got there, and put on my hospital gown and answered questions like, "No, I don't have a living will and yes, you may perform a blood transfusion in case I am dying on the table," did I start to re-think my initial impression. Surgery is surgery...and no matter what, they all sort of suck.
Now, granted my surgery wasn't as involved as my neighbor's EYE REPLACEMENT (yes, I actually heard the doctor say, "Are you ready for your new eye?") or were they fixing a heart that was born in 1927 (my other neighbor), but I was still going under and someone was going to cut me open. (I've been watching Grey's Anatomy while laying on my couch for the past three days - so excuse my "hospital talk.")
Anyway, my minor surgery involved checking out if a tube of mine was open or not. The verdict? Open. When was this established? Actually, a year ago. Why did they decide to check again? Because, for me, making a baby has to be the most difficult and involved process anyone has ever had to endure. (Okay, so actually the initial x-ray wasn't exactly clear, but I'm still going with my first answer.) So now, I'm sitting on the couch with a bloated abdomen and four stitches.
Gee, X-ray Imagining of Santa Monica I sure do appreciate your meticulous approach to x-rays! You did a minor good job.