Seeing my insides

So, I had an appointment at the hospital this week with an ear nose and throat specialist, my first ENT appointment since transferring to Auckland.  It didn’t start well at all.  Unlike my last appointment (to see the oncologist), I had a good trip to the hospital – avoided roadworks, didn’t get lost, got there on time – but this time, once inside the hospital, I got hopelessly lost.  I was anxious, as I always tend to be when having any kind of check-up, but this time it was slightly worse because I’d had a small tussle that morning with the insurance company I’ve been covered by since getting sick last year.  I won’t traverse the sad details, but they really are a bunch of complete muppets and are behaving disgracefully in the circumstances.   I’ll get there in the end though, I’ve fought worse battles. 

At this point, having got utterly lost inside the labyrinthine corridors of the hospital, the inevitable happened and I burst into tears.  I thought a few sniffles would escape, but instead I dissolved into a full-blown sobbing session.  I did manage to stumble upon the ENT clinic (I’d been everywhere else, so it had to happen eventually), but was unable to do more than bark out my name between sobs and occasionally say “no, I’m fine” as I blew my nose and wiped away the rivers of tears.  The staff were wonderful and sat me down with a box of tissues and some ancient gossip magazines, and I gradually stopped blubbering and calmed down.  

I had plenty of time to calm down, oodles of time, in fact, as the clinic was running late.  Two hours late, it eventually transpired.  Several times I thought about storming off in a huff, but felt given my dramatic arrival I would simply seal my appearance as a raving nutter, and having invested all this waiting time I couldn’t bear to then waste it all.  The kindly receptionist came and suggested I go and get some lunch, and escorted me down the single flight of stairs to the cafe  - she wasn’t taking any chances on my navigational skills.  

Finally, my moment arrived, the ENT called my name and I was in.  I was cross though, and sat with my arms folded while the ENT fiddled about on a computer, looking for my records.  When he eventually swung around in his chair to face me, I fear he saw a rather uninviting sight, all crossed arms and cross faced and possibly looking like I might start leaking tears and making dolphin sounds all over again.  He must have been a fairly charming character, because he managed to defrost me in about five minutes flat.  He asked what I did, and what my husband did, and how old my children were, and then asked me if it was terribly hard to balance all those careers and little people and made all sorts of sympathetic noises about it all.  I couldn’t believe it, but I liked him already.  

He then poked about in my ears and mouth, talked to me like an intelligent human being who understood my medical issues, and pulled a grommet out of one ear.  This hurt like hell, but seemed to make the ear work a bit better (it has since blocked up again, but  at the time I thought he was a miracle worker).   Then came the really exciting part – he wheeled over a trolley with all sorts of equipment stacked on it, including a little TV screen.  For the first time, I was going to get to see inside myself, at the parts that had been operated on and that had proved so problematic ever since.  

This might not be for the squeamish, but I personally found it quite fascinating.  He numbed my nasal passages with spray, popped the little camera inside, and down it went.  To be honest, some of this made me want to hurl, and based on what I saw its no surprise I’m blowing my nose two hundred times a day.  I saw the place where I should have been able to see the opening of my left eustachian tube, and as it was completely hidden I’m in no doubt that my left ear is permanently deaf.  He went further down, and I had a peak as far as my vocal cords, which was very interesting in action.  We were past parts that had been numbed by the nasal spray, I could feel the camera, and my gag reflex was starting to assert itself, so the show was over, which was a shame.  It was good news though – he saw no alarming lumps or bumps.  (I thought it was all rather alarming, but then it was a first for me.)

We were finished, and I pottered off into the sunset – well, the car park, where I actually couldn’t find my car for a while, but in my new cherry mood this didn’t bother me at all, and I made it back to work in one piece.  I need a CT scan, which I will no doubt be summoned to at some point in the future, and hopefully next time I’ll drive there competently, find the appropriate department without crying, and be seen at something vaguely like the appointment time.  Fingers crossed.