Had my bronchoscopy yesterday. The docs ran late, so the nurse put Pandora on the medical computer and played classic 70s soul for me. That was pretty cool. There wre two Dr. Fergusons in the room; my guy from the Monday appointment, and a younger woman with a hipster haircut, big round, thick-rimmed fashion glasses, and an arm full of tattoos. I found that comforting.
They shot me up with some kind of twilight anesthetic, which they said would put me mostly out unless they needed to tell me to do something, and I wouldn’t remember the procedure. The nurse even joked “here comes the good stuff” as she started to administer it. Uh, where’s the good stuff again? I didn’t feel any kind of “whoosh” or, really, any noticeable change at all. CHEATED! I even sort of remember a lot of voices and people doing stuff in the room, although I may have been in and out for some of it. Overall, it wasn’t bad – just left me with a bit of a scratchy throat and a little dopey. But not the looney-loopiness I hear people talk about after colonoscopies.
Dr. Ferguson came out to the recovery room and said that what they saw pretty much confirmed what everyone has been saying all along: some kind of cancer, pretty certainly malignant. OK. Time to put the treatment plan together. What’s the next step? LET’S GET IT ON!
Some might think I’m just avoiding the less pleasant aspects of this whole thing by concentrating on moving forward and getting treated. Maybe so. But I can’t wallow in the dark side of it; I need positivity, I need to give myself “live” messages, I need to see that the other end of this thing is out there somewhere. I need to look forward to feeling better, and so, that’s what I’m doing. Everyone has their own coping method, this is mine.