Flip flop Bow Tie o’ the Day hitched a ride with me and Suzanne to the appointment with my Cranky Hanky Panky surgeon at Huntsman today. The radiologist’s report about my CT scan said my pancreatic stone had been crushed and the resulting rubble was making its way out of my body. I was hoping it was true, but there was no explanation for why I felt continued pain, if my problem really was solved. And then, my surgeon showed us my scans. She said, “Hey! The stone’s still there! It wasn’t blown to smithereens at all.” Even I could see the dang stone. The thing is, I don’t think the radiologist was a dope for misreading my scans. What’s left of my re-built pancreas is weird, and I’m sure it’s not easy to figure out. I’m just glad my pancreas doc wanted to look at the scans with us. The fact that she caught the radiologist’s error makes me doubly confident in her as my surgeon.
So, what does this mean? It means that all of the tests and procedures I’ve been having since February have not been able to deal with the pain in my Cranky Hanky Panky which is apparently a calcified-tissue factory. The next step is, unfortunately, surgery. There are a couple of hoops to jump through before surgery’s a 100% go, but as it stands now, I’m scheduled for surgery to extricate my pancreatic stone in early September. My Panky surgeon told us this surgery is done so rarely that there isn’t even an official name for it yet. It will be similar to the Whipple surgery I had three years ago on my pancreas. It will not be as extensive as the Whipple, but it will be more complicated, in the sense that because of my previous surgery, there is less of my Panky for my surgeon to work with, and my Panky now has scar tissue from the last operation.
I am not a happy camper, folks. If only a bow tie could solve my Cranky Hanky Panky pain, but it can’t. So often in life, we are left somewhere with no real choices. Stuff happens, or stuff doesn’t. We are called upon to endure stoopid stuff that, in itself, has no meaning for us. Stoopid stuff is not a judgment. It just is. How we endure it is where the meaning is made, and we get to make it mean whatever we choose. Will we build joy in what happens, or will we wallow and complain? We’re in charge of the meaning of our days. Choose wisely. Hey, I’m a happier camper already.