October 13th, 2009
I’m home from the surgical center, and it’s time for my post-operative blog, which has become something of a must-read blog if you want to catch a glimpse behind the invincible persona that I project on Sundays (not that it fools anybody).
Nowhere is your humanity more exposed than when you’re in a hospital (or surgical center) facing an operation. No one projects an image of invincibility wearing a shower cap on your head, a pair of ugly, heel-less socks, and one of those hospital gowns that force you to walk backwards everywhere you go. If I had the power, I’d make the doctors and nurses wear those backless hospital gowns and let the patients wear the scrubs!
Don’t get me started on those hospital gowns!
Someone said that the purpose of a blog is to let people get into your mind. Why anyone would want to get into my convoluted, far-from-renewed mind is a mystery to me—my wife has been trying to get in there for 32 years! So here are some of my post-operative reflections, distorted no doubt by the lingering effects of the anesthesia they gave me.
First of all, let me clear up some confusion regarding my surgery. I didn’t have an ear transplant (although that’s an intriguing possibility). I didn’t have a cochlear implant. I didn’t have a tumor removed. I had a reconstruction of the middle ear bones. I had the same operation in 1994 and it helped my hearing considerably. I won’t know how successful the operation was in improving my hearing until they take out the packing next week.
This surgery was done at a surgical center in Millburn; my last surgery was done in a surgical center in Fort Lee. I asked them if they sold mugs with a picture of the surgical center on it, so I can start a collection of surgical centers that I’ve been operated in. But they had no mugs. And no souvenir plates. No souvenirs of any kind, although they did offer me the hospital gown I wore as a memento of my visit. No thanks!
Don’t get me started on those hospital gowns!
I signed the usual myriad of forms that warned of dire consequences if they don’t get paid by my insurance company—I think one of the forms said something about indentured servanthood for up to 20 years if they’re not paid.
Then they warned me again of all the terrible things that could happen in the event of a medical “anomaly.” Anomaly means “Oops.” The doctors know how to cover their backsides…even if the patients can’t cover theirs.
But the worst possible fate is to die and your medical insurance doesn’t pay the surgical center. In that case, they bury you face down dressed in…you guessed it, a hospital gown!
Don’t get me started on those hospital gowns!
After I changed into my fashionable hospital attire, and started walking backwards to my seat, the nurse reminded me that I had to remove all jewelry (in case your medical insurance doesn’t pay the bill no doubt). And then she pointed to my wedding ring. I told her that I didn’t want the single nurses to get their hopes up (especially all decked out in my fashionable hospital attire), but she assured me that she would let all the nurses know that I was unavailable. So I surrendered my ring.
The anesthesia was administered differently this time. This was the first time that they gave me an oxygen mask and told me to take a few deep breaths. So I took a few deep…
The next thing I remember is staring at blue scrubs and hearing a faint and distant voice asking me if I was OK, and did I want anything to drink. I don’t know if this is true for others, but the worst part of an operation for me is when I first wake up: not because I’m in pain, groggy and disoriented—but because my bladder feels like it’s going to burst. Apparently, they give you about 6 gallons of IV solution during the operation and it all goes into the bladder. When I first wake up, I just want to get to the bathroom.
“Are you OK?” “I’ve got to use the bathroom.”
“Do you want something to drink?” “No, I’ve got to use the bathroom.”
“Do you want…” “No, I don’t want one of those milk carton jug containers. I’ve got to use the bathroom.”
“We sent for your wife, since someone has to stay with you while you’re using the bathroom.”
By this time, I didn’t care if the entire hospital staff stayed with me in the bathroom! Fortunately, my wife showed up soon and Janet and the nurse helped me walk to the bathroom. I was still pretty unsteady on my feet and the nurse asked Janet if I was always this wobbly on my feet. I was ready to say, “That wobbliness comes from the six gallons of fluid sloshing around in my bladder.”
To prove my point, after emptying my bladder, I skipped back to my seat…backwards! (OK, that’s not exactly true).
But, in time, I was steady enough to take off my fashionable hospital attire and get into clothes that cover the whole body.
Don’t get me started on the hospital gowns!
Posted in Reflections | 4 Comments »