Personal Note: My Surgery

OK I had it and I’m alive.  If you didn’t read my post from the other day, here.  I had to be at the hospital at the ungodly hour of 6:15 AM this morning.  That’s even earlier than when I start work.  I went through the admission process.  Co-pays have gotten ridiculous.  The cheaper they make health care, the more expensive it is.  I tried to make a joke but it went flat.  The admissions nurse asked if I was working; I said not at the moment, meaning not that very second.  I corrected it after she didn’t smile.

After some measuring of vitals, I was told to take off all my clothes and put on two hospital gowns, one open to the back, the other open to the front.  The surgeon came in and talked as if he remembered me.  I guess he did.  He took out a marker, opened my gowns, and signed the left lower abdomen where the hernia repair was needed.  Perhaps it was my nerves, but I had gas.  I told the nurse earlier and the doctor now and neither seemed to think it was of concern.  My fear was that under sedation I would pass a bowel movement and make a mess of the situation.  I was walked over to the operating room where the surgical team were all looking at me above their surgical masks as I walked into the room.  It felt like I was in an episode of Dr. Kildare,  I was asked to lay down on the table, and someone removed the gown opened to the front.  There’s no dignity in being a patient. 

 

Someone asked who I was and what I was here for.  I told them.  I had to splay my arms outward as if I were being crucified, and my thoughts jumped immediately to Jesus.  The head nurse tried to strap some contraption across my waist.  “So you don’t fall off,” She said.  The anesthesiologist said he was plugging the anesthesia into my catheter on my left forearm.  Someone was doing something to my right arm as well, and asked politely, I assume strapping it down.  My arms were in some sort of crossbar.  It really felt like I was being crucified.  My last thoughts were wondering on whether the Roman soldiers were this polite to Jesus as they nailed him to the cross. I know depictions show a brutality, but we don’t really know, now do we?  Perhaps they were polite.

Next thing I know I was in the recovery bay, the surgery finished, and it was now about an hour later.  I guess I did not pass a bowel movement.  My vitals checked out.  They gave me a cup of coffee and a cookie, and they called my wife, and it seemed within minutes I was being wheeled out to my car.  I think I was home before 10:30.

I’ve been resting and reading—this is a great time to catch up on a lot of reading—all day.  The doctor’s autograph is still on my belly.  Perhaps he thinks it’s a masterpiece.  Pain has gotten progressively worse.  I’m trying to avoid taking the Tramadol; too many people get addicted to these pain killers.  I’ve been putting an ice pack on it (it’s swollen) and taking ibuprofen.  It’s very difficult getting out of bed, and it really hurts when I cough.  I haven’t had a bowel movement yet, but I suspect that’s going to really hurt too.  I may take a Tramadol before going to bed so I could sleep.

Through it all I couldn’t help but remember the beginning of T.S. Eliot’s great poem, “The Love Song of  J. Alfred Prufrock.”    

LET us go then, you and I,    

When the evening is spread out against the sky        

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,       

The muttering retreats         5

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels  

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: 

Streets that follow like a tedious argument   

Of insidious intent     

To lead you to an overwhelming question….         10

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” 

Let us go and make our visit.

Yes, today I was a patient etherized upon a table.  Thank you for your prayers.  Hopefully it will all be worth it.

Personal Note: The Debilitants

I like the word, “debilitant.”  One who is debilitated.  Maybe I should have called a word of interest.  But it’s wrapped in a personal note post given that we are two debilitants here.

We have a house headed with the disabled.  A week and a half ago my wife severely sprained her ankle.  Actually the Emergency Room at the hospital thought it was fractured.  As it turned out, when she went to an orthopedist for a follow up, it turned out that what the ER saw on the x-ray was a previous hair line event that left a mark.  If anyone remembers, I had a similar experience a year and a half ago where the initial assessment on my foot was fracture but upon follow up with an orthopedist determined to be only a sprain.  I had posted here on it.  

My wife’s ankle was more severely sprained than mine.  Her ankle was swollen to almost twice the size and she’s had to wear a boot.  And it was her driving foot, which made driving impossible.  In time the swelling has come down, enough to fit her shoe on and do the necessary car excursions, such as take Matthew to school.  Special thanks to one of Matthew’s schoolmate’s mom, who picked up and drove Matthew to school for a week.

How did this sprain occur?  Well, you remember our dog Rosie? 

She is probably the most hyperactive, annoying dog we’ve ever had.  I can’t even begin to list what she’s done.  I’ll reserve her own post for that.  And to be fair, she is a sweet and affectionate dog.  It’s just that she’s so darn persistent at whatever she sets her mind on.  What happened was that after a morning walk, my wife was stopped in front of the house facing in a particular direction.  Rosie was facing roughly ninety degrees in another direction.  She saw some critter.  Could have been a squirrel or a cat, not sure what.  My wife was not expecting Rosie to pull.  When Rosie saw another animal, her desire is to run to greet it.  She pulled and my wife being off directional was twisted around and down.  She didn’t fall to the ground but I think she said she caught herself on Rosie’s back.  By mid-day her ankle had swelled and was in such pain she needed to go to the ER.  It’s finally at a point where she can walk for a little ore than a few minutes.

What’s my disability?  Well, I have a hernia.  Hernia specialist called it a “left inguinal hernia.”  How did I get it?  I’ll tell you how I think I got, but doctor didn’t think it caused it.  It was last August.  I was walking down the stairs from our upstairs while carrying Tiger’s litter box.  I couldn’t exactly see each step since it’s a little bulky.  But I’ve come down those steps millions of times in the 20-something years of living here.  What I didn’t count on was my son had left some of his notebooks on the steps.  Like a perfect cartoon sketch, my foot slid with the book and I went bouncing down the steps.  I landed on my behind and bounced down about six steps, my behind smacking each step.  With each bounce on a step, I could feel my belly jiggle like a rubber band.  The next day my behind was sore, but three days later I felt a pain in my belly.  And the pain spread to my groin, and it wouldn’t go away. 

It wasn’t excruciating pain, just a nagging ache.  Six months later I went for a physical and doctor thought I had hernia.  He sent me to a hernia specialist, and he confirmed it.  He said it was mild to moderate.  Doctor thought it was more a genetic predisposition.  One of my grandfathers did have a hernia.  Perhaps both are true, a predisposition and the bouncing on my tush which activated it.  Who knows?

Well, on Monday the 23^rd I’ll be going in for a repair surgery.  It’s supposed to be less than an hour procedure: three incisions and placing a mesh that reinforces the abdominal muscles.  I think I’ll be in good hands.  The doctor preforming the procedure is actually quoted in the WebMD article on it.  Look on the second page, my hernia specialist is that Dr. Michael Costellano.

Still no one ever knows when one goes in for an operation.  Look at what happened to Joan Rivers.  So while I don’t usually ask for prayers for me, I could use a few on Monday.