It was finally
here!
After jumping through insurance hoops for well over a year it was surgery day!
Now for anyone who has ever been preparing their lives for any kind of surgical procedure, the day seems forever away and then suddenly it's tomorrow!
You have to arrange for the time off from work and apply for disability.
(Set aside about two months to complete this paperwork)
Not unlike applying for a drivers license.
Or an international passport.
Just as an FYI, there was no box on the disability form to check for "I-jacked-up-my-knee-stupidly-yanking-up-carpet-by-myself-I-should-have-hired-it-done".
I had to check "other".
The pre-surgery form world is vast and endless.
The most jestful form you encounter is the informational database for the doctor that supplies all your medical history.
This is used to assess your physical condition, past surgeries, your ability to tolerate anesthesia and to also see just how little you pay attention when you are filling out forms.
I apparently misunderstood one little check box area and therefore informed them that, yes, I had been afflicted with every disease ever known to mankind.
From Asthma, check.
To Yellow Fever, check.
I don't think they had a disease that started with Z.
Hey, it was not my fault they used double negatives!
Nurse... "Excuse me ma'am, have you really had all of these ailments?"
"Cuz you really don't appear to be deaf and blind!"
Me..."No I haven't, I just wanted to get finished quickly, I didn't even read any of it!"
"Plus your crappy pen held on the clipboard by a fan light chain was bugging me!"
She was not amused by my droll yet honest answer.
Your biggest fear is that you will write something so ridiculous that the nurses will copy it and use it in their
"Dumb Answers Hall of Fame."
Like the lady who was asked if she was sexually active and answered, "No, I just lie there."
You can't make this stuff up.
So the week before surgery you do all the really important stuff.
1. Pay your life insurance.
2. Scribble a will on a Taco Bell napkin.
3. Purchase non-holey underwear.
4. Do essential pertinent area grooming.
I decided that a since a weedwacker was probably not a standard surgical instrument and since they actually needed to SEE my knee, deforestation of the area was a priority.
As was a pedicure.
I didn't want them putting me under anesthesia and then running from the room screaming, "I think we've unearthed Howard Hughes!"
"Bring in the Dremel!"
As luck would have it, the night before my surgery, the gas company decided they needed to do some maintenance work on my block.
They mailed out a letter declaring that the power would be out from 10:00 p.m until 6:00 a.m the next morning.
Because I am efficient I posted this notice prominently on my frig.
Then I promptly forgot about it.
So at about 10 minutes to 10:00, pre surgery night, I realized that yes, the electricity was indeed being turned off in 10 minutes and I needed to shower and get all my junk together before this occurred.
Mainly because showering in the morning at 4:00 A.M, in freezing water, before my o'dark thirty check-in time was not going to be likely.
I had barely finished my shower when I was plunged into darkness.
After rummaging through the cupboards and finding my camping lantern and some candles, I finished up my prep work feeling like Harry Potter skulking through Hogwarts.
The major problem with the no electricity thing was that the next morning I had to get ready in pitch darkness with only my lantern to guide me.
Therefore when I checked in at the hospital I looked like I had dressed in a card board box.
Extreme bedhead hair, no eyebrows (due to an unfortunate plucking episode at the age of 12), and clothes all askew.
Thank goodness I had laid out the non-holey underwear before the lights went out.
And that all my clothing was right side out.
This can be a serious issue.
Luckily my sister was there to monitor tags and inside out clothes checkage.
Important segue:
I always struggle with the dilemma of telling people when they have an unfortunate clothes faux pas.
Tags sticking out, nylon thong stuck between the shoulder blades of a Rayon work-out jacket.
Toilet paper clinging to a shoe.
Just what is the protocol here?
Do you say, "Excuse me Miss,
your chonies are clinging to your back like a tiny Rhesus monkey?"
Or do you just let it go?
I once stood in line behind a woman at California Adventure who had her pants on inside out.
Full on tag flapping in the breeze, seams obviously on the outside.
I stood silent.
To this day I regret not telling her.
The problem with this scenario is that she looked worn out and stressed as it was.
Messy hair.
Grasping a whiny kid by his bony little arm.
At herDisneyland disaster point.
Maybe the clothes information would be the straw that broke the Mamas back and she would have wheeled around and stabbed me in the eye with the wooden handle of a giant circular Mickey Mouse lollipop.
All the while screeching, "Do you think I give a crap??!"
"I just spent $42 on two cokes and a churro!"
"Right now I don't care if I am stark naked!!"
It could happen.
And there is also the possibility that she didn't give a hoot if her pants were on backwards!
After her three day pass to Disneyland, on a cross country trip fromAlabama
Let alone whether they were inside out.
Just the fact that she hadn't murdered all of her children and flung her haggard carcass out of the Pinocchio Disney tram and into oncoming traffic was a win at this point!
But I digress.
Sitting in the waiting room....
And sitting.....
Just as an FYI, whatever time the hospital tells you to get there, you will NEVER and I repeat, NEVER, be called back at that time.
It's just the universal rule.
The doctor probably stopped to picked up a latte at Starbucks.
Or had to floss his or her teeth.
It's like traffic in L.A.
It's just what is.
Eventually after passing through all designated hospital border check points you are granted access into the inner sanctum.
"Good morning, my name is Sarah (not her real name), and I am your pre-op nurse today."
"First I'm going to take your blood pressure which will certainly be a bazillion over 90 because you are worried we might make a mistake and hack around on the wrong limb."
"Second, I'm going to give you a lovely hospital gown that is designed to fit no-one which we require you to wear."
"This is because your clothes from home are germy AND if you decide to bolt, all you would be sporting is a purple paper gown with no bum coverage and a pair of non-skid socks."
"Easy to spot from a police helicopter."
Thanks Sarah....
"And last but not least, I am going to start your IV."
If you have a good IV nurse this should not hurt.
They usually give you a little shot of Lidocaine to numb the area before they insert the tiny IV catheter tube into your arm.
Otherwise you would grab the nurse by her hair and body check her into the pastel walls.
In case you are a time traveler and have been residing in the 1800's, I.V. stands for "into the vein or intravenous."
This is French for "a tube in your arm where we insert drugs that make you think you're a kangaroo."
Or that you live on another planet.
It takes the place of a whack on the head with a wooden mallet or biting a bullet with a shot of whiskey.
This is called anesthesia.
Best invention since toilet paper.
A word of advice.
Anything short of a splinter extraction, please ask for anesthesia.
The best description I can give of anesthesia is this.
The last thing you recall is walking down the hall towards the operating room and the next second you could wake up strapped to an ant hill in the desert with your tush flapping in the breeze and your surgery would be all done.
And you wouldn't even notice.
All you would care about is,
"Do I still have eyebrows AND can I have more of that golden sleep elixir?"
"BTW, when is the next bus toPhoenix
"AND, what's my name?"
Good stuff.
As it was, all I remember was being escorted down a bright hallway by two delightful operating room nurses, placed on a table surrounded by machines that "go beep" (homage to Monty Python),
and waking up the following Tuesday.
Or at least it felt like it.
My sister said the doctor came into the recovery room and discussed my surgery at length with me while I nodded and asked questions.
I remember none of this.
All I recall was waking up and thinking I had overslept and missed my surgery check-in time.
And being offered Graham crackers and apple juice.
But as my dear Daddy used to say, "Never drink apple juice in a hospital."
"You never know when they'll get their beakers mixed up."
True dat.
As far as my knee goes, the surgery was very successful.
My meniscus was somewhat promiscuous and had shared its tear farther and wider than originally predicted.
As a result I have been sporting an "Inspector Gadget" robo leg ever since my procedure to stabilize a floppy ligament which was the result of friendly surgery fire.
After jumping through insurance hoops for well over a year it was surgery day!
Now for anyone who has ever been preparing their lives for any kind of surgical procedure, the day seems forever away and then suddenly it's tomorrow!
You have to arrange for the time off from work and apply for disability.
(Set aside about two months to complete this paperwork)
Not unlike applying for a drivers license.
Or an international passport.
Just as an FYI, there was no box on the disability form to check for "I-jacked-up-my-knee-stupidly-yanking-up-carpet-by-myself-I-should-have-hired-it-done".
I had to check "other".
The pre-surgery form world is vast and endless.
The most jestful form you encounter is the informational database for the doctor that supplies all your medical history.
This is used to assess your physical condition, past surgeries, your ability to tolerate anesthesia and to also see just how little you pay attention when you are filling out forms.
I apparently misunderstood one little check box area and therefore informed them that, yes, I had been afflicted with every disease ever known to mankind.
From Asthma, check.
To Yellow Fever, check.
I don't think they had a disease that started with Z.
Hey, it was not my fault they used double negatives!
Nurse... "Excuse me ma'am, have you really had all of these ailments?"
"Cuz you really don't appear to be deaf and blind!"
Me..."No I haven't, I just wanted to get finished quickly, I didn't even read any of it!"
"Plus your crappy pen held on the clipboard by a fan light chain was bugging me!"
She was not amused by my droll yet honest answer.
Your biggest fear is that you will write something so ridiculous that the nurses will copy it and use it in their
"Dumb Answers Hall of Fame."
Like the lady who was asked if she was sexually active and answered, "No, I just lie there."
You can't make this stuff up.
So the week before surgery you do all the really important stuff.
1. Pay your life insurance.
2. Scribble a will on a Taco Bell napkin.
3. Purchase non-holey underwear.
4. Do essential pertinent area grooming.
I decided that a since a weedwacker was probably not a standard surgical instrument and since they actually needed to SEE my knee, deforestation of the area was a priority.
As was a pedicure.
I didn't want them putting me under anesthesia and then running from the room screaming, "I think we've unearthed Howard Hughes!"
"Bring in the Dremel!"
As luck would have it, the night before my surgery, the gas company decided they needed to do some maintenance work on my block.
They mailed out a letter declaring that the power would be out from 10:00 p.m until 6:00 a.m the next morning.
Because I am efficient I posted this notice prominently on my frig.
Then I promptly forgot about it.
So at about 10 minutes to 10:00, pre surgery night, I realized that yes, the electricity was indeed being turned off in 10 minutes and I needed to shower and get all my junk together before this occurred.
Mainly because showering in the morning at 4:00 A.M, in freezing water, before my o'dark thirty check-in time was not going to be likely.
I had barely finished my shower when I was plunged into darkness.
After rummaging through the cupboards and finding my camping lantern and some candles, I finished up my prep work feeling like Harry Potter skulking through Hogwarts.
The major problem with the no electricity thing was that the next morning I had to get ready in pitch darkness with only my lantern to guide me.
Therefore when I checked in at the hospital I looked like I had dressed in a card board box.
Extreme bedhead hair, no eyebrows (due to an unfortunate plucking episode at the age of 12), and clothes all askew.
Thank goodness I had laid out the non-holey underwear before the lights went out.
And that all my clothing was right side out.
This can be a serious issue.
Luckily my sister was there to monitor tags and inside out clothes checkage.
Important segue:
I always struggle with the dilemma of telling people when they have an unfortunate clothes faux pas.
Tags sticking out, nylon thong stuck between the shoulder blades of a Rayon work-out jacket.
Toilet paper clinging to a shoe.
Just what is the protocol here?
Do you say, "Excuse me Miss,
your chonies are clinging to your back like a tiny Rhesus monkey?"
Or do you just let it go?
I once stood in line behind a woman at California Adventure who had her pants on inside out.
Full on tag flapping in the breeze, seams obviously on the outside.
I stood silent.
To this day I regret not telling her.
The problem with this scenario is that she looked worn out and stressed as it was.
Messy hair.
Grasping a whiny kid by his bony little arm.
At her
Maybe the clothes information would be the straw that broke the Mamas back and she would have wheeled around and stabbed me in the eye with the wooden handle of a giant circular Mickey Mouse lollipop.
All the while screeching, "Do you think I give a crap??!"
"I just spent $42 on two cokes and a churro!"
"Right now I don't care if I am stark naked!!"
It could happen.
And there is also the possibility that she didn't give a hoot if her pants were on backwards!
After her three day pass to Disneyland, on a cross country trip from
Let alone whether they were inside out.
Just the fact that she hadn't murdered all of her children and flung her haggard carcass out of the Pinocchio Disney tram and into oncoming traffic was a win at this point!
But I digress.
Sitting in the waiting room....
And sitting.....
Just as an FYI, whatever time the hospital tells you to get there, you will NEVER and I repeat, NEVER, be called back at that time.
It's just the universal rule.
The doctor probably stopped to picked up a latte at Starbucks.
Or had to floss his or her teeth.
It's like traffic in L.A.
It's just what is.
Eventually after passing through all designated hospital border check points you are granted access into the inner sanctum.
"Good morning, my name is Sarah (not her real name), and I am your pre-op nurse today."
"First I'm going to take your blood pressure which will certainly be a bazillion over 90 because you are worried we might make a mistake and hack around on the wrong limb."
"Second, I'm going to give you a lovely hospital gown that is designed to fit no-one which we require you to wear."
"This is because your clothes from home are germy AND if you decide to bolt, all you would be sporting is a purple paper gown with no bum coverage and a pair of non-skid socks."
"Easy to spot from a police helicopter."
Thanks Sarah....
"And last but not least, I am going to start your IV."
If you have a good IV nurse this should not hurt.
They usually give you a little shot of Lidocaine to numb the area before they insert the tiny IV catheter tube into your arm.
Otherwise you would grab the nurse by her hair and body check her into the pastel walls.
In case you are a time traveler and have been residing in the 1800's, I.V. stands for "into the vein or intravenous."
This is French for "a tube in your arm where we insert drugs that make you think you're a kangaroo."
Or that you live on another planet.
It takes the place of a whack on the head with a wooden mallet or biting a bullet with a shot of whiskey.
This is called anesthesia.
Best invention since toilet paper.
A word of advice.
Anything short of a splinter extraction, please ask for anesthesia.
The best description I can give of anesthesia is this.
The last thing you recall is walking down the hall towards the operating room and the next second you could wake up strapped to an ant hill in the desert with your tush flapping in the breeze and your surgery would be all done.
And you wouldn't even notice.
All you would care about is,
"Do I still have eyebrows AND can I have more of that golden sleep elixir?"
"BTW, when is the next bus to
"AND, what's my name?"
Good stuff.
As it was, all I remember was being escorted down a bright hallway by two delightful operating room nurses, placed on a table surrounded by machines that "go beep" (homage to Monty Python),
and waking up the following Tuesday.
Or at least it felt like it.
My sister said the doctor came into the recovery room and discussed my surgery at length with me while I nodded and asked questions.
I remember none of this.
All I recall was waking up and thinking I had overslept and missed my surgery check-in time.
And being offered Graham crackers and apple juice.
But as my dear Daddy used to say, "Never drink apple juice in a hospital."
"You never know when they'll get their beakers mixed up."
True dat.
As far as my knee goes, the surgery was very successful.
My meniscus was somewhat promiscuous and had shared its tear farther and wider than originally predicted.
As a result I have been sporting an "Inspector Gadget" robo leg ever since my procedure to stabilize a floppy ligament which was the result of friendly surgery fire.
But as they always say, "time must limp on" and I feel so fortunate to live in an era and a country where I could get it repaired.
It sure beats sitting on a skateboard and pushing myself around with a stick the rest of my life.
Or being Tiny Tim Cratchits' corner buddy in Old England.
As Mr.Tim would say, "God's blessed me everyone!"
Oh Tiny, you always did have a way with words.
.....I'm just sayin'
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