Yes, I had surgery for a variety of medical issues, which included outpatient procedures and acute problems that had developed over time.

The first surgery was for cataracts, a common condition that can cloud the lens of the eye and affect vision. I was fifty years old when the first one was performed, a significant moment in my life that marked the beginning of a journey toward clearer sight. I remember the anticipation and slight anxiety I felt leading up to the procedure, but I was relieved to learn that it was a relatively routine surgery. Then, ten years later, I underwent the same procedure for the remaining eye, which allowed me to fully appreciate the world in vivid detail once again. This is now an outpatient surgery and normally uneventful, with most patients able to return home the same day. I seldom wear glasses anymore since the surgery, which has been a liberating experience, although I still occasionally find myself reaching for them while using the laptop for extended periods, especially when focusing on small text or detail-oriented tasks. The difference in my vision post-surgery has greatly enhanced my daily life, allowing me to engage more fully in activities that I enjoy, such as reading and exploring life

The next surgery happened in 2018 for an eleven mm kidney stone in my right kidney. No modesty allowed here; it was a process that truly tested my understanding of medical technology. They went up through the basement using a laser to break up the stone, a technique that showcases the incredible advancements in modern medicine. In addition to the laser, they needed a bright light to illuminate the area and a vacuum to efficiently remove the debris created during the procedure. It’s remarkable to think about how they can insert all that specialized equipment into your tube and navigate their way up to the kidney, skillfully extracting the stone with such precision. I was kept under observation overnight, monitoring any complications, and was thankfully discharged the following afternoon, feeling relieved yet exhausted. For twelve hours after the surgery, I passed urine that looked like chocolate milk, an unsettling sight that served as a vivid reminder of the battle I had just endured. Each urinating act was a mix of discomfort and fascination at what my body was going through, making me appreciate the resilience of the human body and the expertise of the medical professionals who helped me.

Finally, on January 7, 2023, I had a pulmonary saddle embolism, which is a gigantic blood clot between my lungs. Word to the wise, if you ever wake up in the middle of the night, with a terrific pain in a calf. Do not massage the calf to relieve the pain. Speculation is the massage caused the DVT clot to break loose and migrate from the calf to between the lungs. CT scan showed that it looked like a large tree root going to various parts of the lungs.

They gave me three options, each with its own set of implications and outcomes. First, I could simply rely on medication to try to dissolve the clot, a method that seemed less invasive but carried uncertainties about its effectiveness and timing. The second option was more direct: they would enter through the groin above the hip under anesthesia and insert a specialized instrument designed to remove the clot as much as possible. This approach felt aggressive, and the thought of going under made me hesitate. The third option, however, piqued my interest despite its unconventional nature. It involved performing the same procedure as the second option, but without general anesthesia; instead, I would remain awake and alert, with only local pain medication to numb the area. They explained that they had seen the best results with this method, which allowed for immediate adjustments during the procedure based on my feedback. After weighing the risks and benefits of each choice, I ultimately opted for the third option, believing that remaining conscious would not only give me a measure of control over the situation but also help to improve the overall outcome of the procedure.

The most pain I suffered was when they cut the artery or vein to insert the instruments. They didn’t bother to tell me that they were going to make another incision above the other hip to remove the debris, which caught me completely off guard. It was just as painful as the first incision, intensifying my anxiety and fear during the procedure. The rest of the surgery was not that painful, but I experienced immense discomfort and unease that lingered in my mind. During that harrowing bout, I did think I took my last breath and felt a chilling certainty that my time on this earth was drawing to a close. I do believe I experienced a near-death event, one that left an indelible impression on my psyche, and I had a surreal preview of the time after life on this earth, filled with profound reflections that I still ponder to this day. After three days in the ICU and an additional day in the hospital, they sent me home, but that was only the beginning of my journey back to normalcy. It has been over two and a half years since that day, and while I have recovered physically, the emotional and psychological scars have remained. The only long-term effects are the daily reminder that I must take blood thinner medication for the remainder of my life, which serves as a constant connection to that traumatic experience, reminding me of the fragility of existence and the importance of cherishing every moment.

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