The PAE

 I'm home from the hospital again! What was it this time? A prostatic artery embolism, or PAE. The word "embolism" sounds bad, I know, but here it's a good thing, so you can restart your heart. :)  If you want the long definition of PAE, it's easy to find on Google. The short version is that it's a way to treat benign prostatic hyperplasia (growth of the prostate that often interferes with bathroom function). During a PAE, the doctor inserts a series of silicone beads into the arteries that feed parts of the prostate. This restricts blood flow and shrinks the prostate, easing or ending the bathroom problems. The procedure is performed with a catheter inserted through the upper thigh, like catheters cardiologists use for balloon angioplasty in the heart. For a wonder, the procedure went great, both physically and emotionally. I was so relieved at how it went that I was shaky afterward. I stayed awake during the procedure—no anesthesia, no anterograde amnesia—and the entire team from the nurses to the PAs to the doctor was solicitous, empathetic, and always kindly aware of my particular needs and fears. They made every possible accommodation cheerfully, with an "Of course! We're happy to help" attitude. This is the exact opposite of what I generally experienced in the urology clinic, and I can't describe how wonderful that contrast was. Here's the super-long, gory details version. I'm posting this because I process emotional events by writing about them and because I want to remember. I'm putting it behind a jump-cut so you can skip and jump to the final outcome it if you like.

(  Read more...  )Here's the final outcome: I'm glad beyond glad that I refused Versed and stayed awake throughout the procedure. More than once, I waffled on this, and came very close to saying, "Fuck it—just take the Versed." But in the end, I decided a little boredom was better than post-amnesia anxiety. I know what happened during every moment. I know what the doctor did, what the nurses did, and what the students did. I saw that the entire staff was solicitous and worried about me being comfortable and anxiety-free instead of just pretending to be until I was knocked out and reverting to snarky, "he's a bag of meat" behavior. I know that this staff was kind and nice, and it made a total difference. This procedure went a thousand times better than any I've ever had, and I really needed that. I didn't realize how much I needed it until I got home and thought back on it. I actually started to tear up a little over it, the relief was so profound. So what about the recording? I didn't give it to Darwin. I just put the recorder in its box in my desk drawer. I'm not going to listen to it. I don't need to—I know what happened. Does this mean I won't use it next time? I still don't know. But I do know that I'll be asking to stay away with fentanyl instead of forgetting with Versed. 

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