Technically, I should have started this post in January, since it was January 31st, but, I didn't. I was able to head out of the office at about 2:45pm and up to the hospital for the pre-op work. I was told I should get there by 4pm and it would take about an hour. When I got there, they told me I was too early, and that I had to be there within 72 hours of surgery (it was 72 hours, but they were struggling with the math).
They finally saw me some time after 6pm, and I got home at about 8:30pm. The hospital is, as I was warned, an older facility. The lady who checked me in was very sweet, even when I had to explain that we were within the 72 hour window. Once I was admitted, the first stop was the blood lab, where I basically kept my eyes closed the entire time. The technician, whose doppleganger was wwf wrestling legend "Captain" Lou Albano, tried his best to keep me calm with bad jokes. Well, mostly bad jokes. One of them was funny, but I don't remember it so it must not have been that funny. Didn't matter, when you stick a needle in my arm I block out all thoughts. He also took a urine sample, apparently to check for pregnancy. I explained that there was absolutely NO chance I was knocked up, unless of course the toilet seat theory has any sort of validity, but he wasn't buying it, he needed to check to be sure. He escorted me down to the EKG room, which, and I am not kidding, was lifted from the set of M.A.S.H.. I wiped the dirt off the sheets, which the technician saw me do and said "yeah, it's kind of a mess, there just isn't budget for anything", and laid down for the next phase. Comforting. Anyway, the good news is that the EKG came out perfectly fine. Final stop was x-ray. I won't make any wiseass comments about x-ray because I am still concerned about radiation.
I missed Jeopardy on Monday night.
That was Monday. I was told I would hear from the hospital two days before the surgery (Tuesday) to know what time to come in. I didn't. I called them, and they said someone would call me, but still they didn't. I finally heard from the nurse on Tuesday who couldn't give me an arrival time but had a number of questions, mostly about drugs, prior surgeries, piercings, the usual.
NURSE: Did you have any ibuprofen in the past week ?
ME: NO, I mean YES.
NURSE: How much alcohol ?
ME: I don't remember.
She advised me to shower with antibacterial soap before coming in the morning of surgery , wear comfortable clothing, and absolutely no jewelry or makeup. No makeup ? In the event that I had shaken off the mortal coil on the operating table I wouldn't even look good.
I am not going to lie, I was scared. Really scared. So I decided to do what any normal person would do two days before surgery. I decided to make a great meal, and then find the best bottle of wine in the cellar, and drink at least half of it by myself. Well, maybe a little more than half. Okay, three quarters. Needless to say, Tuesday evening was a good evening. Tuesday night, on the other hand, was a full fledged nightmare about the impending surgery. I mean, some seriously messed up stuff. So messed up I am hesitant to even write it down. Highlights: my doctor didn't show up. then he punked me and did. First he was John C. Reilly, then later he was his original self, but dressed as a Hasidic Jew doing some crazy routine with another doctor, who happened to be a very small person. Then I was sitting in a room full of people, all in line for surgery with this guy. He made fun of me in front of the rest of the crowd, something about me taking myself too seriously (like that has ever happened). Finally he took off his costume and was back to normal in scrubs. Later in the dream my husband was buzzing around on a razor scooter outside the hospital, then the doctor returned, and tried to run me over in the woods, but I got away, on a tractor. Like I said, "nightmare".
Of course, Wednesday morning sucked because I couldn't have any Ibuprofen on Tuesday night.
Wednesday was all around a bad day, and it was in no way related to the ban on Ibuprofen. I was becoming increasingly more frightened, which made me increasingly more irritable. The hospital called and told me to be there at 6am. Then they called a couple hours later and told me to be there at 9am. Then they called me a few hours after that and told me to be there at 6am. And I said no, because I wanted to prove a point that my time was valuable too.
Then I reconsidered and called them back, because I was told you always want to be the first one in to surgery. And they couldn't work it out, so I was stuck being last. What an idiot.
I had just started to calm down, and was pulling in to my garage from work at about 8:30pm when my phone rang. It was the woman who had scheduled my surgery at the ENT's office.
HER: Hi.
ME: Hi.
HER: This is the woman from the ENT'S office. Do you by any chance have your CT Scan ?
ME: No. Why ?
HER: Oh, we just don't have it and thought you did.
ME: I've never actually seen it. In fact, I don't even really know what you guys are doing tomorrow.
HER: You mean the Dr. never called you ?.......
So the night before surgery, about an hour before I was about to try to sleep, I received the final telephone call just to reassure me that I made the right decision (that was meant to be sarcastic). My first surgery, and I was going to allow this Doctor, who had given me less of his time than the Soup Nazi gave George Costanza in his quest for crab bisque, to stick a balloon up my nose and break it (my nose, not the balloon). This man was holding the future of 50% of my breathing ability, and, the shape of my face, in his hands.
I arrived at 9:15 am to the ambulatory surgery area. I walked in, there was a long, dark hallway, and at the end there was a very small closet, which was actually a tiny little office. It was weird actually, like some sort of strange film. Inside the closet there was a woman was checking a man in to the hospital, or maybe it was out.
She looked at me and then, the a dialogue ensued.
HER: what are you doing here ?
ME: I am having surgery here today.
HER: well, look on the door for the instructions.
I looked at the door. The instructions said "Ring silver buzzer for service". Really ? Really ?She couldn't just tell me that ? She had to tell me to actually read the instructions ? It took her longer to tell me to read the instructions than it would have for her to tell me to ring the silver buzzer. I leaned over to tie my shoe, and, as timing would have it, at that moment a woman popped open the door just in time to get a look at my giant sweat pant clad ass, and said... "oooohhhhhh PINK SHOES".... and here starts my big day. (I was wearing pink and grey Reebok Zigtech's).
This woman asked my name, to which I replied, and for some reason she really wanted to call me Diane. So I went with it. Which was fine until they were verifying my information and asked me my first name, which I told them, and they then replied:
"But you said your name was Diane".
"No. YOU said my name was Diane".
"Yes, but you didn't correct us".
"That's because that lady over there really wanted me to be named Diane and I didn't want to disappoint her".
After we got that resolved, another lady came in and said "we need to collect $250.00 from you now". Yup, that's how I began my surgical experience. And I wasn't even undressed yet.
So, they made me undress, put on an ugly backless blue paper dress, and sent me to the bathroom to give them more urine. I would have preferred to walk through the recovery/entry room without my ginourmous, non-running-for-multiple-weeks-ass hanging out as I went to the bathroom, but I suppose at this point they had taken my money and were in complete control. I gave them the container, and about ten minutes later they came back and said "urine test reveals no pregnancy". I bet that will show up as a $200 test on my insurance. All they needed to do was ask.
Next came the issue with my stuff. I had brought my purse, which apparently I was not supposed to do. Maybe they could have told me this in advance. A nurse showed up with a small envelope, about the size one would use use to mail a letter, and said "everything you want locked up needs to fit in here". If you have ever seen my purse, you would realize this created a bit of a problem. All of my belongings made the journey to surgery with me. If only they could talk.
I had been sitting in whatever room they call it for an hour, in my backless blue paper dress, when they announced it was time for an IV. I think I may have mentioned on more than one occasion my issue with needles, I cannot even see them without becoming weak. And as she was beating on my right arm looking for a vein, I realized at that moment I was about to be exposed as a coward. I looked away as I began weeping like a baby, not wanting to reveal that I was in reality a weakling, and that all the sarcastic remarks and phrases filled with disdain were merely a facade carefully crafted to hide my secret. It was true. When it came right down to it, I was paralyzed with fear.
Two hours later, I was still in the same room. I managed to get quite a bit of work done, and really shouldn't have taken the day off. It was nearly 1pm, I hadn't eaten since the night before, I was getting hungry, and at minimum could have used some water. I was just about to get up and leave when the nurse said "they are ready for you". They wheeled me down the hall to another area, not exactly sure what it was. It was time for a consultation and then on to the drugs. As I saw Dr. ENT approach, I debated whether to tell him what I was really thinking, and, while it was against my better judgement, I did it anyway. Inner voice did not win this round. Here's how it went:
ENT: Hey, what's up.
ME: Nothing. I'm flipping out.
ENT: Why ?
ME: Seriously ?
ENT: This is not a big deal, it is a minor procedure, you have nothing to worry about.
ME: Actually Doctor, this has been kind of a cluster. I have gotten all sorts of conflicting information, and I need some clarification.
ENT: Like what ?
ME: Well, what exactly is being done. Are you just doing balloon or are you cutting me ?
ENT: Well....we say bilateral sinus surgery because I need options.
ME: Options ?
ENT: Yeah, I mean, like, I can say balloon, and then do the balloon, and then you just get balloon results, you know ?
ME: No, I don't know.
ENT: You just have to trust me.
ME: (silent. looks like deer caught in headlights)
ME: Whatever, do what you have to do.
ME: Please try not to kill me.
ENT: Ha Ha.
Then came the anesthesiologist.
HER: Do you have any teeth you are concerned about ?
ME: Yes, all of them. Please don't break them.
HER: Okay, we will try.
ME: I really like my teeth, and I don't want them broken, please.
HER: Okay, we will try. Now I am going to give you some drugs.
ME: I don't feel anyth..........
They wheeled me in to the surgery room. I guess that's why they give you the drugs first, because once in the surgery room you realize you are entering a room that is butt cold, the lighting is creepy, and, to top it all off, the sounds of Matchbox 20 are wafting from the speakers. Three things that make me want to throw up. Especially the Matchbox 20 part. I remember moving from the gurney (I think that is what they call it) to the operating table, but that's about it.
Next thing I knew I was in another room. A different room. Oh, and apparently I had pee'd while I was asleep,which was awesome and mature of me. My doctor had apparently left for the day, so I had no idea what he had actually done. What he didn't do was call my husband and tell him I was okay, which caused a whole bunch of aggravation for me later on (more on that later, turns out that the doctor did call, but was given the wrong number, and whomever he spoke with forgot they didn't have a wife named Tiss having balloon sinuplasty in Fallbrook that day). They were constantly checking my blood pressure, which was apparently off the charts (I'm regularly about 118/76, but at one point it shot up to 209/106), then giving me more drugs. I was in and out at that point. They wheeled me back to the original room, and offered me an ounce of water with some ice in a sippy cup. I still was floating around myself, but I was conscious enough to eventually hear my husband call and they told him I was okay.
I finally was able to leave. I tried to be the tough girl and I rejected the wheel chair. Fortunately, for the sake of my friend AJ's car, I didn't barf on the way home.
No comments:
Post a Comment