I arrive on time at the hospital. No problem finding the Oncology Outpatient Clinic on the fourth floor. I meet with the receptionist who ushers me into a hospital room with a curtain drawn across the center splitting the room in two. There are voices coming from the other side. A nurse comes and asks me medical questions. Allergies? Surgeries? Family history. That kind of stuff. Another comes and draws blood. She seems uncertain. Must be new to the job, I speculate. The time passes. I am eaves dropping on the conversation next to me. I can't really help it, they are in the same room. I can tell the man, who sounds young, is laying down, like I. But he sounds weak, in pain. He's there for a liver biopsy. His nurse comes in and explains the procedure. They will give him a sedative but he should be conscious. The actual needle extraction should take only a few seconds but his recovery sounds bad. He'll sleep there for 4 hours, then he'll go home. Must be careful for a week, don't become jarred, take such and such for pain. I'm intensely interested. I wish I could see him. He sounds intelligent. His girlfriend goes out of the room. I catch a glance of her. She's young and pretty. Maybe 25. I figure he must be about the same. What's he doing with a liver problem at such a young age?
My nurse informs me about my procedure, and soon Dr. Thai is there. The local anesthetic numbs the area nicely and the doc starts to push the needle in. "You have strong bones," he says. The needle is not going in. I feel him bare down. Still not going. I try to relax, because I realize that I'm tensing the muscles around my left hip to afford resistance to his pressure. Man, I think, he's really pushing hard. Finally, after a few minutes of effort, the needle has gone in far enough, is withdrawn, and the final part of the procedure is performed. Now I need to rest there for a half hour while the anesthetic wears off and I recuperate. I have plans to play golf today. Conditional of course, on how I feel. I've made it through okay both physically and mentally. Walking away from the clinic, I don't feel much pain, so I decide to keep my golf date. I'll ride a cart to avoid the exertion of walking. It probably wasn't a good idea to play as my score is 85, not up to my usual standard, and my underwear and golf shirt have blood stains on them when I finish. The cart has bounced me around some and the seat-back rests against the hip just where it is most tender. But, what the heck, that's possibly the last round of golf for a while. Maybe a very long while. June 23rd