I’ll return to haunt you.

Ever hear this old chestnut?

Talk today at the lunch table in the cafeteria touched on the plight of that poor teen in North Carolina who had the mix-up with her heart-lung transplant. She was waiting on a Blood type O set of organs, and was mistakenly given a set of Blood type A organs instead. Many of the people at my table were saying that they’d be suing the doctor, hospital and anyone else remotely connected with the mix-up. I mostly just kept my mouth shut. However, I will say this now to anyone reading this who knows me in real life:

If anything goes wrong during my transplant surgery, whether it be a clerical error or a mistake in the surgery or care afterwards, leave the hospital, doctors, nurses and support staff alone. Do not rant, do not hurl accusations, do not threaten, and do not sue. I swear to God, if someone sues simply because I died during surgery or in post-op, I will come back and personally hunt you down and haunt you for the rest of your days. Clear enough?

I’m not saying there are never times when it is appropriate to sue. Practicing medicine without a license, increasing risks by cutting corners to save costs and maximize profit, working under the influence … all these show wanton disregard for human life, and a lawsuit above and beyond criminal proceedings would be quite in order. But to sue someone for being human and making a mistake strikes me as just plain wrong. And anyone who would have the gall to sue someone for trying to save my life is doing me no favors. Unlike that hoary old joke I started my entry with, it has been my experience that surgeons don’t have the hubris to believe they’re God. Some might be a tad egotistical, but it is egoism that comes from being good at something and knowing it. Give me a surgeon with that magnitude of talent any day of the week.

So long as human beings are involved with medicine, there is going to be an amount of human error. It is unavoidable. And yet, I’d choose the practice of medicine by fallible humans over some futuristic soulless machines any time. I’ve seen or met with quite a few doctors since last August: Dr. Regular, Dr. Liver, Dr. Cancer (who nearly wept when she was finally able to verify that I didn’t have polycythemia vera), Dr. Transplant Leader, Dr. Heart, Dr. Shrink, Dr. Stand-In (when Dr. Regular was away and I had to be hospitalized for bronchitis). They may not all have been in the running for Miss Congeniality, but it was apparent that they all gave a damn about me and would try to do their best. That’s good enough for me.

So tomorrow I get the excess fluid drained from me in the morning. I’m hoping to have enough energy left to stop by my lawyer’s on the way home and put the finishing touches on my will and estate work. If I get my taxes done this weekend, there will then be nothing major outstanding. Then it’s just a matter of getting the little stuff settled, and waiting for The Call. The Socialist and I are going to take a “dry run” down to the Big City Hospital this weekend, so he can get his bearings for the big day. He’s never been to that part of town, and while it isn’t complicated, there are a lot of one-way streets to get used to. It’s right by the Vet School, so I’ll have a chance to show him my old stomping grounds as well.

The Elder Sister’s birthday is in about six weeks. I’m thinking I ought to perhaps shop for her present now, so that if I do by some miracle end up hospitalized on her birthday I’ll still have a package for her. Maybe I can squeeze that in this weekend too.