Been there; done that. That laconic response could signify a general lack of enthusiasm for the event and the location now under consideration. But even if the first-go-around was reasonably satisfactory, one might not see any particular advantage to a do-over. Consider our situation. Months ago, we had traveled all the way out to Ein Kerem two times, once for the pre-op appointment and again for the ‘ishpuz’ (where you’re technically admitted, even if you don’t stay there for several days), all with the best of intentions. We thought those formalities were over and done with and the procedure to eliminate the need for my catheter would take place without a hitch, except that a few days later, certain gentlemen – who shall remain nameless – started a war, causing us to spend quality time stretched out in Barbara’s office (a/k/a the mamad) instead of the hospital bed, as we had anticipated.

Now we were returning to ‘the scene of the crime’ for a repeat performance because none of the test results from four months past were considered of any use. And speaking of repeat performances, how many times could I be asked ‘if I have any allergies’ and to repeat my t.z. number? The answer: as many times as there were people to ask. Barbara’s theory is that the questions were raised to test my mental acuity rather than to obtain any new information. I don’t believe I have developed any new allergies in the last ten minutes, and yes, I am still able to rattle off my t.z., which I will recite to you in English, if you don’t believe me.

There has to be an easier way to pass information back and forth. Consider: when the hospital gave us an appointment for the procedure, as well as dates for the pre-op and the ishpuz, it gave us a list of what tests were needed prior to admission. We took that list to Maccabi, had the office scan the documents and put them in their system. Our doctor, Adam Albert, looked at the material and did what he needed to so that the tests would be authorized by our chupat holim. Now, we were returning to the hospital with the test results in hand. That is, in our hands. The staff in pre-op would review the material and put our results in a loose-leaf binder, to be sent up to the ward where I would be staying, so at the proper time, the doctors involved would have access to the binders with my information. Take a minute and consider how this process could be streamlined in this day and age.

So the pre-op and the ishpuz were pretty much the same both times time? Mostly, but with a few wrinkles. The first time, I was told that I didn’t need and, because of my age, shouldn’t have, general anesthesia. The second anesthesiologist was of a different mindset. Your procedure is going to take hours. You will be given a general. When I got home, I immediately messaged Steve.  When you had the procedure what anesthesia did they give you and did you have a choice? My mentor responded, it wasn’t even discussed. Good to know; I probably won’t be missing anything!

One thing was the same about the two ishpuz appointments. Neither time could we have found Sofia’s office on our own. This time, a young woman at the main information desk left her post and escorted us most of the way. Once we were done at the office, we made our way up to the fifth floor of the Davidson Pavilion and waited. And waited, with Barbara asking every half hour or so how much longer it would take. After two hours or so, we were given a handful of antibiotics with appropriate instructions and told to show up Sat. night sometime about 10PM. That’s it. Doesn’t the doctor want to talk to us? Apparently not, and I don’t know why it took so long to get handed a few days’ worth of meds.But that’s hospitals for you.

After ishpuzing for at least three hours, we were more than ready for a mid-day repast. One upgrade from our first time around is that the Elite concession stand in the lobby has been replaced by Roladin, a major improvement, so we could sit in the lobby and get a satisfying sort-of-a-meal and get back on the light rail. We had been at Ein Kerem long enough! We were due back in two and a half days, that’s all, for the actual admission, as in they assign you to a bed and you stay there. Two and a half days to get ready.

To be clear: I had started packing what I would need a few days before. Barbara had already arranged with Bernice to take us to the hospital motzei Shabbat. And my wife had instructions to feed my street cats while I was away. What else was there to do? I needed to calm down.  Let’s say you’re headed to the airport. There might be issues, but you’re not focused on the possibility the plane could crash. But if a few weeks before, a plane had engine trouble, and one of your friends was on the plane, even if nobody was injured, you might be a tad apprehensive. It wasn’t that long ago that two of our friends went into a hospital and didn’t make it out alive.  Granted, I was in better shape – by a lot – than either of our friends, but still.  When you’re lying in bed, awake, in the middle of the night, and you’re thinking of Iris and AJ, your worst fears can take over. So I needed to calm down, which I did some of the time.

And then it was Friday; and then it was time to light the candles; and then it was Shabbat morning, time for the kiddush club to convene; then it was time for Havdalah. Bernice would be calling us in fifteen minutes, letting us know she was on her way. Ready or not, I would soon be at Ein Kerem. No one had started enough of a war to derail the procedure. Keep calm; it will soon be over and done with. You’ll be fine. That’s what I had to keep in mind.