Health Care - Part III Game Day

Dear Mrs. Higgins,

So finally the awaited day arrives and I’m in for surgery.

Having fasted from 7pm the night before, I‘m a little cranky already.
(now I know what Gandi felt like getting the British out of India)

Anyway, I’m in the waiting room promptly at 7am waiting for the 9 o’clock procedure. After a couple hours, the volunteer running the OR waiting room sweetly mentions that I’m not scheduled until noon.

I, in turn, sweetly mention that I own a #$%^ telephone, and it seems to be working properly with the minor exception that I haven‘t received a *&^%$ call from the ^%$# person in charge of my *&^% surgery schedule.
(that seems a bit strong until you consider my emaciated condition)

Of course, it wasn’t her fault. And you can’t fight city hall. Or a surgeons schedule. Apparently, there was some kind of emergency that had to be taken care of ahead of me. Some people are so inconsiderate with their medical emergencies.

Finally, I meet my surgical prep nurse. She happens to be someone I know. I’ll call her Betty. Her real name is Trish, and she lived across the street from me when I was in high school and is a couple years younger.

I’m guessing there are a couple hundred nurses in Champaign/Urbana. I know one of them and she is going to get me ready for game day. Unlike high school football, this does not involve taping ankles. Not even close.

So Betty/Trish and I are having a nice chat about her husband and kids, and her new house, and my kids, you know small talk. I must have been my normal witty self because there was a lot of giggling during our “chat.”

That pleasantry completed, along comes second nurse to describe how the rest of game day, and the days after are going to play out.

This, Mrs. Higgins is so contrived. They get you naked except for the breeze gown, shorn like a losing poodle in a dog show, a needle and tube in your arm, and then give you the news, weather, and sports - including “significant swelling and discomfort.”

I seriously thought about making a break for it, when nurse 2 begins wrapping me in heated blankets. Wow! These are awesome, and I’m thinking: “how bad can it be?”

Feeling a bit like a dinner roll in a basket at a fancy restaurant, I meet my anesthesiologist. And I know this guy too - from the 7 11. Only I’m not positive its him, maybe a brother or cousin. Maybe the guy moonlights.

Finally after being rolled to several waiting locations, I get to the OR and I'm really, really glad my contacts and glasses are not available. This room looks serious, and I don’t want to see the details of what tools are available to the good doctor.

A couple more nurses move me from the warmth of the biscuit basket onto a metal table recently pulled from the fridge. I’m guessing they were out of adult sized tables because, well, lets just say there was more Mike than table.

Next, 7 11 guy shows up, and I'm thinking about a 32 ounce slurpy, when he tells me he is going to give me something to relax.

I'm thinking: finally a break. They have Old Style here - probably keep it next to the operating tables....

My next thought was a nurse handing me a cup of ice chips. Only these are not your normal ice chips. These taste like a 16 ounce prime rib with a loaded baker. They are incredible. Ice never tasted so good. Some guy next to me is complaining about pain, and all I can think is: "Dude! eat your ice!"

Of course I’m finished. And, as expected, this was the easy part. I really don’t know, Mrs H. exactly what happened in the OR, but I have a theory.

Dr. Jones makes a little incision right below my waist line and inserts some kind of mesh to hold the parts of me that should stay in, in.

This is the whole idea. So years from now I won’t have the embarrassing conversation: “excuse me sir, but I believe you are standing on my intestine.” Keep it in your pants takes on a whole new meaning.

Then, I’m pretty sure, they put my heels in stirrups and bring in every person who I ever offended for one free kick. (starting with the OR waiting room volunteer - who probably got 2)

Unfortunately, this is a long list.

Mike


Dear Mike,

Emaciated? Gandi?

Wish I would have known, I have some steel toed shoes somewhere around here.

Mrs. Higgins