All This Over Some Fucking Chicken Broth
On patient advocacy, medical decisions, and the exhaustion of having your life rearranged when you're already running on empty.
I never thought chicken broth would be the reason my entire November got turned upside down, but apparently, here we are. Not a five-course meal. Not a cheeseburger and fries. Chicken. Fucking. Broth.
I've been trying to wrap my head around everything that happened, and I think what frustrates me most isn't necessarily the medical decision itself. It's the feeling of having absolutely no control over something that affects my body, my schedule, my business, and my life. And when you're already exhausted, having one more thing thrown at you can feel like the final straw.
I showed up for my scheduled hysteroscopy ready to get it done. I'd mentally prepared myself, rearranged my schedule, and was sitting there with an IV in my arm, receiving IV Tylenol, waiting for the procedure. Then came the conversation about the chicken broth I'd had at 9 that morning.
Because the broth might have contained fat or protein, the anesthesiology team wanted to wait eight hours before proceeding with anesthesia. Initially, that meant pushing my procedure to 5 p.m. Then it became 6 p.m. Then possibly 6:30 p.m. Nobody seemed to know exactly when it would happen because an emergency had come through the ER and understandably took precedence.
And I want to be clear about that. Someone experiencing a medical emergency absolutely deserves immediate attention. I wasn't upset that another patient needed care. I was frustrated that I was sitting there, already prepared for my procedure, watching the timeline get pushed further and further back without knowing whether it was actually going to happen.
Meanwhile, I had offered another option.
I've had a hysteroscopy before, in a medical office, without being put under. So I offered to do this one awake, too. I was already there. I had an IV. I was receiving pain medication. I was willing to deal with the discomfort because, quite frankly, I wanted to get the damn thing done.
But the answer was no.
I was told the lead anesthesiologist wouldn't approve it because if complications arose and I needed emergency general anesthesia, the chicken broth could create an aspiration risk. They weren't willing to take that chance.
Now, I'm not a physician, and I'm certainly not an anesthesiologist. I understand why safety precautions exist, and I'm not suggesting anyone should ignore them. I also recognize that just because I've had a hysteroscopy awake before doesn't automatically mean every hysteroscopy can be performed the same way.
But can we acknowledge how incredibly frustrating this is?
Because I was sitting there thinking, I've literally done this before. Why can't we have a conversation about what makes this situation different? What is it about this particular procedure that makes doing it awake an unacceptable option?
Instead, I was left feeling like the decision had already been made, and I was simply expected to deal with the consequences.
When Advocating for Yourself Still Leaves You Feeling Powerless
We hear it all the time. Advocate for yourself. Ask questions. Speak up when something doesn't feel right. Be an active participant in your healthcare.
And I agree with all of that. In fact, I encourage people to advocate for themselves in nearly every aspect of their lives. As a coach, I believe in bodily autonomy, informed choices, and recognizing that people are the experts on their own lived experiences.
But what happens when you do advocate for yourself, ask questions, offer alternatives, and still walk away feeling like you had no voice in the outcome?
I wasn't refusing medical care or demanding that someone disregard their professional judgment. I was trying to participate in a decision about my own body. And while I recognize that patient autonomy doesn't mean a medical team has to agree to every request, I think there's an important difference between explaining why something isn't possible and leaving someone feeling like their perspective didn't matter.
I don't need to be the person making the anesthesia decision. That's not my expertise. But I do need to feel like I'm part of the conversation, especially when the consequences of that decision extend well beyond the hospital.
And boy, did they extend beyond the hospital.
My hysteroscopy is now scheduled for November 3, which was originally supposed to be the date of my hysterectomy. My hysterectomy has been moved to November 25.
Yes, November 25. The day before Thanksgiving.
Nothing says holiday cheer quite like major surgery and a side of mashed potatoes you may or may not feel like eating.
Now I get to rearrange my schedule again, figure out what this means for my clients and my business, prepare for another procedure, and go through another stretch without the supplements that help me feel like myself. All while trying to manage the physical and emotional exhaustion I've already been experiencing.
And that's the part I think gets overlooked when we talk about medical appointments being postponed or rescheduled. For the healthcare system, it's a scheduling change. For the patient, it can affect nearly every aspect of their life.
The Invisible Work of Being a Patient
There's a tremendous amount of work involved in navigating healthcare that doesn't show up on a medical chart.
It's coordinating appointments, adjusting work commitments, arranging transportation, following preoperative instructions, managing medications and supplements, and preparing yourself mentally for what your body is about to experience. It's trying to anticipate how you'll feel afterward and making sure the people who depend on you are taken care of.
And then there's the emotional part.
The uncertainty. The waiting. The mental preparation. The effort it takes to trust that the people making decisions about your care understand not just your medical history, but the person attached to that history.
When something changes, all that preparation doesn't simply disappear. You have to do it again.
I think about this a lot in my work as a coach, particularly with people who have experienced medical trauma, live with disabilities, or have spent years feeling dismissed or misunderstood in healthcare and fitness spaces.
We talk about meeting people where they are, but that requires recognizing everything they're bringing into the room. Their history, their experiences, their fears, their needs, and the things we might not immediately see.
The same should be true in healthcare.
A person isn't just a procedure on a schedule. They're a whole human being with responsibilities, relationships, and a life that continues long after they leave the hospital.
And sometimes, they're a whole human being who is already really fucking tired.
I'm Tired, and I Don't Need to Make It Inspirational
I don't know about anyone else, but lately I've been feeling exhausted by just about everything.
The constant noise of the world, the cruelty, the political hostility, the violence, and the seemingly endless stream of things that demand our attention. Some days it feels like we're so busy reacting to everything happening around us that we barely have an opportunity to process any of it.
And then life throws in something personal, like a medical procedure that doesn't go as planned, and suddenly even the smallest inconvenience feels enormous.
I've been physically exhausted. Mentally exhausted. Emotionally exhausted. And I honestly couldn't tell you exactly where one ends and the other begins.
As someone who talks about movement, self-care, and listening to our bodies for a living, I recognize the irony of struggling to give myself the same space I encourage others to take.
But I also think we've developed this strange expectation that every difficult experience needs to become an opportunity for growth.
Something frustrating happens? Find the lesson.
Feeling overwhelmed? Practice gratitude.
Things don't go as planned? Look for the silver lining.
Can we please stop doing that to ourselves and each other?
Sometimes something happens, and it just fucking sucks. There doesn't have to be a beautiful revelation waiting on the other side. We don't have to turn every disappointment into a story about resilience, and we certainly don't have to pretend we're okay with something just because we understand why it happened.
I can respect the anesthesiologist's responsibility to keep me safe and still be angry about how everything unfolded. I can appreciate having access to medical care and still be frustrated with the system delivering it. I can understand that complications are possible while wishing there had been another way to proceed.
Those feelings can coexist.
And maybe that's what I need to remind myself of right now. I don't have to choose between being understanding and being frustrated. I don't have to minimize my experience because someone else has it worse. And I don't have to apologize for being exhausted by a situation that has required more of my energy than I expected.
Sometimes Being Present Means Admitting You're Pissed Off
I've been thinking about what it means to be present lately. Not in the trendy, wellness-industry sense where we're supposed to meditate our frustrations away or find peace in every uncomfortable moment. I mean actually paying attention to what's happening in our lives and acknowledging how we're feeling without immediately trying to change it.
Right now, I'm frustrated. I'm tired. I'm disappointed. And I'm not particularly interested in pretending otherwise.
I know the medical team was concerned about my safety. I know there are risks involved with anesthesia. I know that postponing a procedure can sometimes be the responsible decision.
But I also know that I showed up ready, tried to advocate for myself, and walked away with an entirely different surgical schedule than the one I'd spent weeks preparing for.
And I'm allowed to be upset about that.
Maybe what I need most right now isn't another strategy for managing stress or another reminder to be patient. Maybe I just need a little room to acknowledge that this has been a shitty experience without immediately trying to make something meaningful out of it.
Because sometimes being present means recognizing that you're running on empty and not demanding even more from yourself.
As for my upcoming procedures, I'm hoping everything goes smoothly, that my recovery is uneventful, and that I can finally move forward without another round of scheduling surprises.
And if there's one thing I can say with absolute certainty, it's that chicken broth and I are going to need some time apart.
Let's Talk About It
Have you ever advocated for yourself in a healthcare setting and still walked away feeling like your voice didn't matter? Or had a medical decision completely disrupt your life, even though you understood why it was made?
I'd love to hear your experiences, especially how you've navigated the frustration of balancing medical decisions with everything else life expects of you.
Because sometimes we don't need someone to fix our frustration. We just need someone to hear us.
💛 Wendy
Comments