Clarity, Part II
Life can be so funny sometimes. And by funny, I mean interconnected--in a strange way. Yesterday, I talked about clarity. While I used the word in reference to writing, clarity is just as important in the spoken word.
And that, my friends, bring us to today's post, where I'm going to talk about a simple act of miscommunication that, had the speakers been more clear, my day today would have started off on a slightly less-annoying foot.
Let's go back to 7:30 a.m., when Aaron and I arrived at the hospital thinking that he'd undergo a simple procedure to widen his urethral opening. We arrived, thinking that he'd be sedated. We arrived, thinking that he would not have to undergo general anesthesia. We arrived with these assumptions in our head because the medical personnel at the urologist's office told us to expect as much. And by medical personnel, I mean the nurse practitioner and the urologist.
"Don't worry," they had said. "We should be able to do the procedure without using general anesthesia."
But this morning, I wondered why the nurse started prepping Aaron as if he'd be going under. I asked the nurse about the anesthesia, who told me to wait until the anesthesiologist arrived. And the anesthesiologist? This guy did not mince words when he said, "Well they lied."
My eyes pricked with tears. I'm not a big proponent of change--when it happens, I have to be ready for it, prepped and ready, mind you, and I hadn't been prepped at all. My anger rose against the anesthesiologist and then again at the urologist. What happened? I asked the urologist. Why didn't I know that Aaron would be undergoing general anesthesia? The man didn't have a great answer, which didn't surprise me. After all, he had already proven that he lacked clarity. He did, however, offer an apology.
But then, as I sat in the squeaky chair next to Aaron's hospital bed, a moment of (yes) clarity passed over me. I realized that the day wasn't about me. It wasn't about the feelings I have toward anesthesia, or the bad memories I have of it from the girls' c-section. This day and this procedure, had Aaron's name written all over them (I mean, I don't even have a penis, you know?), and if the anesthesiologist felt general anesthesia was the right path, the route he'd take with his own child, then who was I to say otherwise?
So I gave consent for the anesthesia, and in the end, Aaron had the procedure done. We're home now, after having eaten some chickpeas and rice and topping the meal off with a huge sundae from Dairy Queen. The sun is shining, I'm warm inside, and Aaron now has a urine stream like a fire hose. What more could I ask for, really?
Let's breathe in and out and say together, clarity. Clarity. Sometimes, you have to dwell for more than one day on a subject. I promise that tomorrow, I'll have moved onto to something else.
Like unicorns and rainbows.
And that, my friends, bring us to today's post, where I'm going to talk about a simple act of miscommunication that, had the speakers been more clear, my day today would have started off on a slightly less-annoying foot.
Let's go back to 7:30 a.m., when Aaron and I arrived at the hospital thinking that he'd undergo a simple procedure to widen his urethral opening. We arrived, thinking that he'd be sedated. We arrived, thinking that he would not have to undergo general anesthesia. We arrived with these assumptions in our head because the medical personnel at the urologist's office told us to expect as much. And by medical personnel, I mean the nurse practitioner and the urologist.
"Don't worry," they had said. "We should be able to do the procedure without using general anesthesia."
But this morning, I wondered why the nurse started prepping Aaron as if he'd be going under. I asked the nurse about the anesthesia, who told me to wait until the anesthesiologist arrived. And the anesthesiologist? This guy did not mince words when he said, "Well they lied."
My eyes pricked with tears. I'm not a big proponent of change--when it happens, I have to be ready for it, prepped and ready, mind you, and I hadn't been prepped at all. My anger rose against the anesthesiologist and then again at the urologist. What happened? I asked the urologist. Why didn't I know that Aaron would be undergoing general anesthesia? The man didn't have a great answer, which didn't surprise me. After all, he had already proven that he lacked clarity. He did, however, offer an apology.
But then, as I sat in the squeaky chair next to Aaron's hospital bed, a moment of (yes) clarity passed over me. I realized that the day wasn't about me. It wasn't about the feelings I have toward anesthesia, or the bad memories I have of it from the girls' c-section. This day and this procedure, had Aaron's name written all over them (I mean, I don't even have a penis, you know?), and if the anesthesiologist felt general anesthesia was the right path, the route he'd take with his own child, then who was I to say otherwise?
So I gave consent for the anesthesia, and in the end, Aaron had the procedure done. We're home now, after having eaten some chickpeas and rice and topping the meal off with a huge sundae from Dairy Queen. The sun is shining, I'm warm inside, and Aaron now has a urine stream like a fire hose. What more could I ask for, really?
Let's breathe in and out and say together, clarity. Clarity. Sometimes, you have to dwell for more than one day on a subject. I promise that tomorrow, I'll have moved onto to something else.
Like unicorns and rainbows.
Comments