Reflection
The other day, I was staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to determine just how bad of a sunburn I had got that day at work. I noticed it when I pulled back the hair from my right temple. A horizontal line starts from an inch above my eyebrow and ends at my hairline. It’s barely noticeable; you’d have to have me point to see it. But it’s there. Perhaps faded and hidden, yet still a scar. The scar is from a surgery that I had five or six years ago. I had developed an aneurysm on my right temporal artery from some trauma to the head. It had started as a small bump on the side of my head, and as time went by, the bump began to grow, little by little. Then one afternoon, I placed my finger on the bump and I felt my pulse. So we end up in our family doctor’s office to see what it might be. His diagnosis was that it might be a cist above the artery. The doctor then suggests that he could stick a needle into the 'cist' to see if any pus came out. He fetches a nurse and asks her and my mom to hold my head in place to keep me from moving. After applying a local anesthesia, he presses the needle into the 'cist.' I feel a slight stinging pain and a few seconds later, I hear the doctor that I've had since I was little kid say, 'Oh. It's bleeding quite profusely now.'
To me, it sounded hilarious, partly because my doctor has a very strong Indian accent, and partly because I was thinking, 'Gee, doc, where did you get your degree? I think you might need to give it back. Looks like you snagged an artery and turned me into a human sprinkler.' I had to keep myself from laughing because if I started to laugh out loud, I would have had a hard time controlling it. I don't know about you, but uncontrollable fits of laughter and a needle stuck in your head don't mix well, in fact I'm certain a needle stuck in the head doesn't mix with anything. The thought of possibly losing a significant amount of blood kept the laughter in check. We found out that the 'cist' was actually a minor aneurysm on my temporal artery. The specialist suggested that the best course of action would be to operate and remove the aneurysm and bypass the artery. It had the potential to be life-threatening if left untreated, but mostly the operation would be for cosmetic reasons. The day of the operation came and I had the day off from school( I was sophomore in high school then). I was checked in and taken to a prep room. There, I was given an hospital gown, some matching pants, and some socks with footpads for traction. The nurses comes and pops an IV in my left arm, which in my opinion was probably the worst part of the whole ordeal).
And then we wait. A hour passes, then another, and as we're closing in on the third hour, a nurse comes and informs us that the surgeon had been needed to operate on a trauma victim who had been in a serious car wreck. I had hoped that the person would come out of it alive and well. Two more hours pass by and a pair of nurses, one female one male, have come to fetch me. I'm wheeled into the operating room and once there I'm hooked up to a few machines. I can't really see much from lying down. A nurse lays a warm blanket on top of me, and I say thanks. It becomes apparent to me that one of the machines is a heart rate monitor, I can hear the slow and steady beep every few seconds. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a HUGE needle. The beeping sound speeds up. For a second, I thought they were going to stick me with that giant needle. Instead, they injected it right in my IV. The surgeon told me to count backwards from one hundred. I only got as far as eighty-five. About an hour later, I wake up with a blue cloth covering my face, just as they're closing me up. After that, I had dinner at an Italian restaurant (a big cup of tortellini soup and a salad drenched in French dressing) and I went home. I slept easily that night and attended school the next day.
Life went on as it usually did and so much water has passed underneath that fabled bridge since that time; only the sight of a faded scar summons the memory back into focus. I must admit that I wasn't very afraid or nervous about the surgery. I'm not trying to boast or brag, merely stating a fact that I find a bit odd. Now, I stare at my reflection and wonder for a moment, only a moment, what could have happened if the circumstances were different. Had I not gone to the doctor there's a possibility that I could have died with the wrong set of circumstances. I know, yes I went to the doctor, and you're right I did get the aneurysm removed, you're probably wondering why I'm wondering about the possibility of death. Well, the weird, funny, and sad thing is that it seems you start to live more when the possibility of death gets a little higher than usual. Let's face it. Death comes to all, eventually. It is going to happen, but when you realize that, you're reminded that your body is merely flesh and bone and that you are a mortal. Once you realize that again (it seems sometimes we forget), you'll find that you live a little more than you did the day before. I know it's true for me, at least. I'm not suggesting you spend your every waking hour thinking about death. It's your life, just remind yourself every and now again that it will have an end at some point in time, so make sure to live the life you've always wanted. For me, I think I've had enough of my reflection to last me a few days.
The other day, I was staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to determine just how bad of a sunburn I had got that day at work. I noticed it when I pulled back the hair from my right temple. A horizontal line starts from an inch above my eyebrow and ends at my hairline. It’s barely noticeable; you’d have to have me point to see it. But it’s there. Perhaps faded and hidden, yet still a scar. The scar is from a surgery that I had five or six years ago. I had developed an aneurysm on my right temporal artery from some trauma to the head. It had started as a small bump on the side of my head, and as time went by, the bump began to grow, little by little. Then one afternoon, I placed my finger on the bump and I felt my pulse. So we end up in our family doctor’s office to see what it might be. His diagnosis was that it might be a cist above the artery. The doctor then suggests that he could stick a needle into the 'cist' to see if any pus came out. He fetches a nurse and asks her and my mom to hold my head in place to keep me from moving. After applying a local anesthesia, he presses the needle into the 'cist.' I feel a slight stinging pain and a few seconds later, I hear the doctor that I've had since I was little kid say, 'Oh. It's bleeding quite profusely now.'
To me, it sounded hilarious, partly because my doctor has a very strong Indian accent, and partly because I was thinking, 'Gee, doc, where did you get your degree? I think you might need to give it back. Looks like you snagged an artery and turned me into a human sprinkler.' I had to keep myself from laughing because if I started to laugh out loud, I would have had a hard time controlling it. I don't know about you, but uncontrollable fits of laughter and a needle stuck in your head don't mix well, in fact I'm certain a needle stuck in the head doesn't mix with anything. The thought of possibly losing a significant amount of blood kept the laughter in check. We found out that the 'cist' was actually a minor aneurysm on my temporal artery. The specialist suggested that the best course of action would be to operate and remove the aneurysm and bypass the artery. It had the potential to be life-threatening if left untreated, but mostly the operation would be for cosmetic reasons. The day of the operation came and I had the day off from school( I was sophomore in high school then). I was checked in and taken to a prep room. There, I was given an hospital gown, some matching pants, and some socks with footpads for traction. The nurses comes and pops an IV in my left arm, which in my opinion was probably the worst part of the whole ordeal).
And then we wait. A hour passes, then another, and as we're closing in on the third hour, a nurse comes and informs us that the surgeon had been needed to operate on a trauma victim who had been in a serious car wreck. I had hoped that the person would come out of it alive and well. Two more hours pass by and a pair of nurses, one female one male, have come to fetch me. I'm wheeled into the operating room and once there I'm hooked up to a few machines. I can't really see much from lying down. A nurse lays a warm blanket on top of me, and I say thanks. It becomes apparent to me that one of the machines is a heart rate monitor, I can hear the slow and steady beep every few seconds. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a HUGE needle. The beeping sound speeds up. For a second, I thought they were going to stick me with that giant needle. Instead, they injected it right in my IV. The surgeon told me to count backwards from one hundred. I only got as far as eighty-five. About an hour later, I wake up with a blue cloth covering my face, just as they're closing me up. After that, I had dinner at an Italian restaurant (a big cup of tortellini soup and a salad drenched in French dressing) and I went home. I slept easily that night and attended school the next day.
Life went on as it usually did and so much water has passed underneath that fabled bridge since that time; only the sight of a faded scar summons the memory back into focus. I must admit that I wasn't very afraid or nervous about the surgery. I'm not trying to boast or brag, merely stating a fact that I find a bit odd. Now, I stare at my reflection and wonder for a moment, only a moment, what could have happened if the circumstances were different. Had I not gone to the doctor there's a possibility that I could have died with the wrong set of circumstances. I know, yes I went to the doctor, and you're right I did get the aneurysm removed, you're probably wondering why I'm wondering about the possibility of death. Well, the weird, funny, and sad thing is that it seems you start to live more when the possibility of death gets a little higher than usual. Let's face it. Death comes to all, eventually. It is going to happen, but when you realize that, you're reminded that your body is merely flesh and bone and that you are a mortal. Once you realize that again (it seems sometimes we forget), you'll find that you live a little more than you did the day before. I know it's true for me, at least. I'm not suggesting you spend your every waking hour thinking about death. It's your life, just remind yourself every and now again that it will have an end at some point in time, so make sure to live the life you've always wanted. For me, I think I've had enough of my reflection to last me a few days.
posted by Sam | 12:51 AM
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3 comments
