Mayo-praise

Due in part to a major medical issue from 15+ years ago, I occasionally go to Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota for diagnostic testing and check-ups.  It started out as a kind of second opinion on treatment I'd already received, to help determine if there was a different / better course going forward.  I got comfortable with doctor(s) I saw there, and it morphed into semi-annual, then annual, and now once every 3-5 years deal at my discretion.

I made my latest Mayo visit this week.  It's about a 3 hour, one-way trip, and although I've done the entire visit in a day, I usually add a one-night hotel stay.  When I go now, I'm contemplative about the prior visits, and why I still go there.

The bottom line is, Mayo is different than other health care providers.  In dozens of testing appointments over the years, I've rarely had to wait.  The staff has always been 'Minnesota Nice' in those times.  Perhaps best of all, the diagnostic testing reports are done immediately, so I can visit the doctor, often in the same building, within a couple of hours to hear the outcome.

Factor in that the Mayo Clinic doctors are salaried staff.  They don't get paid more for seeing more patients, or for ordering more tests.  It's a very patient-friendly model, and from that perspective, it's almost infuriating that health care organizations aren't all mandated to operate in that same way.

However, it isn't the most financially-friendly model.  It's definitely more expensive, for both the testing and the doctor visits.  So, if you don't have insurance coverage, there may be a question of value, something that can't be overlooked.

Fortunately, I have insurance.  I also have a desire to  go to a place where I'll know about any medical breakthroughs related to my condition / treatment, if and when that happens.  I still feel the trip to the Mayo Clinic is worth the extra time and cost.

You Have A Tumor

In July of 2000, after a few months searching for answers about chronic fatigue and stiffness in my legs, I got a call from my family physician.  It was obvious this was no ordinary call; it was Sunday morning around 9 A.M.

After a quick exchange of pleasantries, I will always remembers her next words:  "You have a tumor."  I will never remember much about the rest of the call, beyond being told to go to the hospital later to visit with a neurosurgeon she recommended to me.

In short, I had surgery a few days later to remove a spinal tumor.  Although the pathology was not confirmed for a couple of weeks, it was later determined to be a benign ependymoma.

Today, July 14, 2015, marks the 15th anniversary of that surgery, the only in-patient surgery I've ever had so far, and hopefully the only one I'll ever have.  Several weeks later, it was followed by a six-week course of preventative radiation therapy, which I know I'll never have again.

I don't want to write much about it, I don't even want to talk much about it, but it's a good time for me to look back and consider the lasting impressions I have now:

• There is no not being scared when you are told you have a tumor.  It doesn't help for others to tell you it's going to be fine.  However, one thing that does somewhat mitigate the fear is drugs, in my case Xanax, which has a way of making you not care about things even though you know they are very serious.  This remains the only time I've ever taken something like Xanax, but I can understand how and why people get addicted to it.

• The internet is an incredibly distracting, mentally exhausting resource for looking up health issues.  It's 50/50 to me whether it was (is) a good thing or a bad thing.  But what might help is to find someone else who's been through what you're going to go through.  I wish I would have known someone else in my situation, someone who might have given credible advice.  Unfortunately, it was kind of a rare deal, so much that the internet didn't even help.

• When someone is going through a recovery and/or long-term oncology-type treatment, send them a card sometime.  Misery loves company, even when the company isn't as miserable as you.  It's just good to know that others haven't forgotten about what not only you, but also your family, are going through.

• Don't act in such a hurried or fearful way that you make non-emergency medical decisions without getting a second opinion.  I didn't, and although I feel like I had a good surgeon and a good outcome, in retrospect, I'd have gotten a second opinion on both the surgery and especially on the preventative radiation therapy.

• There wasn't anything good about this tumor/surgery/treatment, but if I had to pick something, it's that I no longer care about aging.  In fact, I've considered every birthday in the past 15 years to be a gift.  Health is a gift.  Age is a gift.  Too bad I had to spend a few weeks thinking about dying young before I figured that out.

Night At The Hospital

I recently spent a night as a visitor as a hospital.  This was my first hospital overnight since I was an inpatient at one over 12 years ago.

Outside of selected complimentary beverages, there are very few good things, if any, about spending the night at the hospital.  However, there are a number of bad things, beyond just being around sick people:

1) The random noises that interrupt the quiet.  Forget about a sound night's sleep.  If it isn't the beeping of the various medical devices, it's the nurses coming in every couple of hours to check vital signs or give medication.

2) The light pollution.  No matter how hard you may try to keep the light low, the above-mentioned nurses are going to walk in from the well-lit hallway.  Sometimes, if they have something to do, they're even going to turn the lights on in the room.

3) The antiseptic aroma.  Combine hand sanitizer, alcohol pads, and every other purification or cleaning agent known to man, and you might have a basic idea of what it smells like the entire time.  Not awful, but not potpourri either.

So in summary, a night at the hospital is going to be a benevolent assault on the senses of hearing, seeing, and smelling.  This is the sacrifice made to help get people well.