The Hole Truth

OK, I've really been obsessing over the implanting of my dialysis catheter.  I didn't want to annoy anyone – especially you – by whining and wailing about it the past few weeks, but I've really been able to think of little else.

This morning at about 10 a.m. EST, Dr. Michael Neuwirth, chief of interventional radiation at Carle Hospital in Champaign, Ill., (doesn't that sound impressive?) will cut open a new hole in my midsection, stick a wire inside it and use the wire as a guide to insert a tube into my peritoneal cavity. The tube eventually will carry fluid to cleanse my blood the way my kidneys would if they were working properly.

I realize I'm probably making a mountain out of a meatball, and the reality of the operation likely will be far less ominous than the horrors I've concocted in my mind. But I'm extremely sensitive to the fact that after today, my body image will be altered for a long time – possibly forever. And having a tube sticking out of your side changes the way you do almost everything, from taking a morning shower to getting dressed, to exercising – I'm not even sure I'll be able to sit the same way anymore.

I guess one fortunate thing is that I do have some personal history to refer to here. Back in 2002, my family doctor detected a lump in my neck during a routine physical and recommended I get it checked by a specialist. A year later, during my annual physical, my doctor asked, "Whatever happened with that lump?"

"What lump?" I asked, channeling the comedic timing of the late Marty Feldman in Young Frankenstein.

(Those who know me recognize that I have a memory like a sieve.)

This made the doc pretty steamed, and he insisted I make an appointment with a specialist while I was sitting in his office. A week or so later, the ear, nose and throat surgeon gave me the news: He was going to have to operate and cut the lump out of my neck for examination.

I remember looking in the mirror the night before the surgery, staring at my face and thinking, "I will never, ever look this way again." The eight-hour operation went smoothly, the growth turned out to be benign, and the recovery process was painful but brief. I had a tube coming out of my neck and into a small bag at my side for nearly two weeks to collect excess blood and fluids while the healing took place.

Eventually, though, the tube came out (with a large sucking sound, as I recall), and today the scar behind my ear is virtually invisible. So as horrible as I thought having neck surgery was going to be, time truly does heal all wounds.

One unusual side effect remains, however: During the operation, surgeons had to remove my saliva gland along with the tumor. Now my body has never recognized the fact that the gland is no longer there, so every time I eat something particularly spicy or flavorful, the "ghost" gland on the left side of my neck begins to sweat. (Someone once said my neck is spitting, but that seems a bit distasteful.) I asked my doctor about it and he says he's never heard anything like it before.

So that operation made me unique long before the procedure I'm having today. If you think about it, though, send up a prayer or a few good wishes for today. And if I'm ever having a meal with you and you see my neck begin to perspire, you'll know I'm really enjoying my food.