Here I sit at my computer at 8:28 am looking at the coffee pot I cherish so much. Its empty. Normally by now its brewing and filling the house with the smells of comfort. Next I would sit here cherishing each sip as it filled me with a very simple joy.
But instead today my coffee cup is empty. My husband has refused to make himself a cup knowing I can't have any. My reply was "But I could smell it." Funny how we cherish such simple things to the point of even wanting to smell it.
But today I've been told no food or drink or sips of anything, in anticipation of heading into yet another procedure, this time done in the OR.
A simple procedure many have said. Easy for them to say. Simple how? Simple in that it doesn't involve cutting my skin open. Simple in that it should only take an hour or so. Simple in that I'll get to go home today.
But its not simple to me.
It will either answer so much or leave me hanging in a hopeless kind of way.
Will it determine the source of my pain for so so many years? Will it prompt a new treatment, one that can be a little bit scary? Will it give an answer, a simple answer that has been so difficult to find. Will it give an answer that we weren't expecting?
Those are the questions lingering in my head as I prepare to head to the hospital today. Normally these tests are done in an "We can do this kind of way, would you like to" , this time it was "This is what needs to be done." I attempted to fight the suggested test of need, arguing: "Are you sure? Isn't there something else we could do?"
I mean really, having a tube go down my throat into my stomach to possibly take a biopsy of my pancreas from there, is a bit nerve wrecking to say the least. The idea of irritating the already irritated is not my idea of a simple test.
However, I know this is simple in terms of, its not open heart surgery. Its not a lung transplant. Its not something that is going to land me in the ICU for days. So therefore, it must be simple.
In reality, I've worked this whole procedure up to being a mountainous nearly impossible feat that now my hope is it doesn't end up anything like my mind has imagined it to be.
Hope. I use that word a lot. Hope is such a simple small word with a ginormous meaning to live up to.
Hope they find an answer.
Hope its not a bad answer.
Hope I'm not left hanging once again.
Hope there is treatment.
Hope the treatment isn't too rough.
Hope. So many things to hope for such a simple outpatient test.