Hospital Humor

I scheduled a routine colonoscopy at the New River Valley Outpatient Surgical Center in Christiansburg, Virginia. Walking to the entrance I became faint. Only grasping the door handle and dropping to my knees prevented a blackout. Vicki ran for help.

I was wheeled to the pre-op suite where I was hooked-up to a monitor and an IV started. Although very weak and dizzy, I began to feel cocky enough to joke with Vicki and the nurses.

Two hours later the surgeon entered. I told him, "I need two procedures, a colonoscopy and a debridement of the decubitus ulcer (bed sore) that developed while waiting for you."

I don't think he appreciated my humor.

The anesthesiologist entered who after listening to my heart ordered a rhythm strip that showed I was in atrial fibrillation. He said, "We're sending you by ambulance to Carilion Hospital across the street."

"Carilion Hospital!!! Please, please, please don't send me to Carilion Hospital. (I consider all hospitals death traps and had heard that Carilion was the worst because the administration overworked the staff and put more emphasis on completing detailed electronic medical records than good patient care.)

"Please don't send me to Carilion," I continued. "I want to go to Texas. Put me on a plane to Texas. They have great hospitals in Texas. Carilion is a terrible hospital."

Vicki said, "You're not being a good patient."

The surgeon and anesthesiologist tried to sooth me, "You can't take a plane to Texas. A long plane trip would be even more dangerous than Carilion."

An ambulance was called.

Carilion Hospital dispatch said that they couldn't send an ambulance for two hours. A county ambulance appeared about an hour later with the excuse that they had difficulty finding a driver. (I am not making this up.)

In the ambulance I was informed that they couldn't take me to the hospital until I was hooked to their monitor as they fumbled with the cardiac leads. I again became a bad patient.

"What is your occupation?" I was asked.

"I'm a doctor."

"That figures."

They then began to draw blood.

"What is the deal! The hospital emergency room is less than a minute away!!!" I yelled.

"Company policy," I was told.

In the ER I was so dehydrated that it took two nurses stabbing me multiple times in an attempt  to draw more blood.

"What's wrong with the seven vials they drew in the ambulance?" I screamed as I progressed from a bad patient to a horrible one.

"Wrong color stoppers," came the reply.

In the meantime the nurses allowed the IV bag to empty. Severe dehydration had collapsed all of my veins so none of the nurses could start another IV leaving me vulnerable if my condition worsened.

The ER doctor appeared who told me that since it was late Friday evening there was no one available to do a cardioversion (a procedure to restore a normal heart rhythm). "Although you are still in atrial fib you seem stable enough to go home. Take an aspirin Saturday and Sunday to reduce the risk of stroke and come back Monday morning when they may have the staff to convert you."

I became very quite, stared into his eyes and said in a calm, deliberate voice, "I want the cardiologist down here now. I don't care if he is about to shoot par on the golf course, having dinner with the governor or watching Scrubs reruns. He is on call for the emergency room. You get him down here now!"

Two minutes later Dr. Ravi appeared. He carefully examined me, ordered an echocardiogram, placed me on the blood thinner Eliquis and the anti-arrhythmic, propranolol. My heart rhythm returned to normal sometime during the night.

Diagnosis: Low potassium secondary to the colonoscopy prep caused the atrial fibrillation. Lesson: Drink plenty of Gatorade before a colonoscopy.

Surviving the Carilion death trap broadened my sense of humor. But because belly laughs are under appreciated at the graveside, I am planning a return to Texas where they have good hospitals…and where they are more tolerant of horrible patients.

The ACTS Prayer

While looking through an old Bible I found this variation of the formulaic ACTS prayer that I had written perhaps 20 or so years ago: 

Adoration: You are the power & glory & truth, the source of life, of love, of learning and of laughter.

Confession: We confess our sins of the mind, of the body, of the flesh and ask your forgiveness for neglecting your holiness.

Thanksgiving: We thank you for giving us the grace of Jesus Christ that we might be saved by faith.

Supplication: We ask you to help us do good works out of joy we receive from your grace. Help us love one another. Thy will be done.

Seeing that old prayer formula started me thinking. Those thoughts I share with you. 

• We often spend most of our prayer time asking for something instead of worshiping God and thanking God for all he has done for us.  
• Prayer is not like putting a nickel in a gum machine, twisting a handle, and then waiting for the gum to pop out. 
• Treating God like Santa Claus cheats us out of the treasured relationship we can have with him.
• Prayer is not a numbers game. Notre Dame's foot­ball victory over Southern Methodist University has nothing to do with who has the most people praying for success. Notre Dame wins because their players are big­ger, stronger, and faster than SMU's team. (Winning coaches pray like God decides victories and they recruit like he doesn't.)
• God wants to hear our worries, concerns, frustrations. He wants to share our grief. He wants to help us. But when we pray only the supplication part our prayers turn into give me, give me, give me. 
• I believe that thy will be done is an extremely important request in every prayer.
• When we become aligned with God's will we begin to understand his answers to our requests.

Funeral Ruminations

My funeral looms on the near horizon.

I’m 71. The United States male life expectancy from birth is 76. If I move to Minnesota I'd live another 2 ½ years (life expectancy 78.67), but who wants to live 2 ½ years with a blue nose and blue ears.

If I move to Mississippi I’d be like Schrodinger's cat, half-dead (life expectancy 71.8).

Here’s a little comfort: For someone who has lived 71 years the average age of death is 84. And some more hope: My mother is a robust, clear-minded 94. But who knows? I might die on my way to a colonoscopy today. Or they may find cancer and give me six months to live.  

We never know when death comes knocking. But we can know how we lived our life.

At my funeral I suppose most will say, “He was a good man.” Or, “He was a good Christian.”

How do they know? Going to church regularly no more makes me a Christian than sitting in the garage makes me a car. Reading the Bible regularly? Praying daily? That fails to signify I’m a Christian. Christianity is a heart thing. Only God knows my heart. Only God knows your heart.  

What do they mean by a good man? That I didn't rape and pillage?

When all is said and done the only thing that matters is how we lived our lives for God. Our legacy depends on how many people we helped along the way.

It doesn’t depend on where we went to school or what kind of grades we made. It doesn’t depend on how much money we had or what kind of car we drove or what kind of house we lived in. It doesn’t depend on how many Facebook friends we had. Our résumés would be but ciphers.

Wouldn’t it be nice if all of us could be remembered for bringing love and laughter, hope and help to all we met?

Heart Secrets

We all have secrets in our hearts. I'll tell you one of mine.

I have struggled with the idea that with enough resolve I could take complete charge of my life. With tenacious persistence I could become a best selling author. Instruction, practice and steadfast  experience would make me a renowned speaker. Positive thinking would engender enduring happiness.

As a result I found myself driven toward impossible goals leaving me feeling inadequate when I failed to accomplish these lofty aspirations.

Some of you are probably not as crazily ambitions as I am, but I bet most of us believe that the proper attitude can transform us into skilled and fulfilled human beings. Bad feelings can be eradicated. Good feelings, amplified. We can have a great day, everyday for the rest of our lives. Attitude is everything. All of this leads to frustration and a fake life.

There's nothing wrong with hard work. That's the American credo: robust individualism, self-determination, freedom. A resolute life can yield success, accomplishment, admiration. But it fails to give our lives meaning.

I suspect that a much deeper secret resides in the heart of most of us: The desire to give ourselves to something beyond personal desires and ambitions. Beyond resolve lies the wonder of life. The joy of living day-by-day. The essence of being wherever we are, whatever we're doing. All of us can open our hearts to the awesome simplicity of spiritual truth, to giving and receiving, to the love of God.

A Steady Rain of Benefits

A mist. That's all. Then a few drops of rain. With a few more, a light rain falls. Add more and more drops. A downpour. Then a torrential rain. Dry channels fill. Ditches become creeks. Creeks become rivers. Rivers run to the sea.

Habits are like that. A few chips with the game. Some munchies. Hey, there's Monday night football. Thursday night football. Friday night football. Football all Saturday. And Sunday too. That's a lot of chips.

Here are some unhealthy habits gleaned from my clinical files (the vast majority of my patients are under 40, most of those are under 30):

• Smartphone dependency. Psychologists call it nomophobia: Fear of being away from the phone.
• Sleeping in, instead of going out
• Ordering take out instead of cooking in
• Getting wasted. A 5 oz. glass of wine or one beer a night may be healthy. Over two glasses, life jackets required.
• Keeping grudges
• Trying to please everyone
• Spending too much time on looks, not enough on learning, life, love, laughter
• Worrying about what others think
• Avoiding people---social angst including social phobia, social awkwardness, poor interpersonal skills
• Drinking soda instead of water
• Ignoring friends and those we love
• Avoiding confrontation
• Remaining in dead-end relationships
• Planning instead of enjoying life
• Snuggling with dependency
• Exercising too much or too little 

The good news: Beneficial habits develop just as detrimental habits, a drop at a time. A steady little drop, day after day. The Grand Canyon approach. 

This Too Will Pass

I woke-up feeling sad today. Not depressed. Not blue really. Not tearful. Perhaps downhearted…or melancholy might be a better word for the way I am feeling. Then I thought of Hamlet’s soliloquy: “How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable, seem to me all the uses of this world.” That’s me today.

I lifted weights with the animals. That didn’t help.

Prayed and read the Bible---no help.

Read a chapter from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone---still melancholy.

Yoga---still down.

Tried all the posture tricks---hand on hips with legs spread, snap fingers, turn lips in upward direction, hold hands in air and give the victory sign---no joy.

Stress---not much to worry about.

Thoughts---I’m really not saying negative things to myself.

Tried to figure out my unconscious motivators---the only thing I could come-up with was the lengthening shadows signifying autumn is on the way.

Played Scrabble with Vicki---I pretended to feel happy, but the melancholy persisted.

Wrote a blog entry---seemed like duty instead of a pleasurable thing to do.

Oh well. The best I can do is to tell myself this too will pass. And it will. Tomorrow I will feel better. Melancholy of this kind is a passing thing. We all have days like this. Thankfully they usually don't last.