Well, for starters, I went to the right place. That's an improvement over our last procedure (see here). No real victory for me, though, since the Charming and Delightful (C&D) drove.
I can't wait for the government to take over health care delivery, so it will be as efficient as the post office. That will SUCH an improvement... not. As it is, we arrived at the surgery center 60 minutes before surgery as requested. And comfortably sat in the waiting room for 20 minutes, sipping coffee and munching on snacks.
Uh, no, not exactly. No drinking or eating after midnight before surgery, so I sat there stewing about how hungry I was. I told the C&D that I didn't know why we had to be here early, just to sit in the waiting room. Don't start, she replied. I'm just saying that it seems like a lack of respect for my time... Try just behaving yourself, she sighed. She gave me the paper to read, but that might have been a mistake. Usually, the opinion pages raise my blood pressure, so I just stuck to the sports section.
They call my name to begin pre-surgery processing. Start here - strip down to your shorts and put on this surgical gown. Easy enough to comply, except for the 'put on' part. For starters, how do you put on something that's only half there? This thing has no back, and you have to tie it on from behind. On a good day, my hand-eye coordination is marginal. Without any coffee or breakfast, it's purt-near impossible. Stripped of my dignity, and more than a little grumpy I shuffle out and take a seat in a big armchair.
I am covered in a couple of heated blankets. Heated blankets! It's nice, but I can't help but think that maybe if you gave me more than half-clothes to wear and turned the heat above 50 degrees, I wouldn't need heated blankets to keep me warm. But that kind of thinking reflects behaving as myself, which is not in compliance with the C&D's orders, so I don't say that thought out loud.
It's quickly clear why they want me comfortable - because they're about to drive me nuts. I'm subjected to a parade of people who all follow the same routine: introduce themselves, tell me what they're going to do, and then ask me my name, date of birth and my doctor's name. The first couple of times, it's amusing. Hi, I'm Nurse So-and-So, and I'm going to stick you with a big sharp object, what is your name? Fair enough, I know from Facebook there are a couple hundred thousand Eric Hansens out there, and you wouldn't want to poke the wrong one. I'm Nurse Whatever, and I'm going to hand the doctor a pair of pliers, and what is your date of birth? Wait a minute, can't you read that off my chart? I'm Dr Neardeath, and I'm going to suspend your breathing and take your heartbeat to near zero, and who is your doctor? Hold it - you don't know which doctor you're working with? And I am paying how much for this??
My favorite interaction was with the surgeon's nurse. She informed me in her play-by-play that the doctor was going to come in and write on my knee. No problem, I replied, I've already taken care of that. You see, my oldest daughter almost had the wrong ankle operated on, so I have taken precautions. On my good knee, I have drawn a red circle with a slash through it - the international symbol for "not this one, amigo". On the intended target, I wrote "Winner winner chicken dinner". Nurse was not amused, and informed me that Doctor will not like that. Well, I've known Doctor since high school, he's done this three times on the C&D, so tough darts. Go by WalMart and pick up a sense of humor. She actually put on a pouty face, and said we'll see, but left unsaid an implied threat, like a five year old telling dad on me. Turns out Doc laughed, just like I thought he would.
And if I ever do this again, I'm going to answer with a different name and date of birth every time, just to see if they even pay attention.
The surgery and recovery were pretty unremarkable, probably because I wasn't conscious for much of it. The last time I had surgery was fifteen years ago, and I didn't come out of it so well. All I remember was being incredibly groggy and wanting to go home and sleep. The C&D told me we couldn't leave until I got dressed. So I stood up, dropped the gown on the floor, and started dragging on my clothes. No one was permanently injured by the spectacle, but lives were changed forever, and not necessarily in a good way. I won't take credit for the policy change allowing shorts under the gowns, but I wouldn't be surprised if my Moon-over-the-Operating-Room episode didn't at least spark some discussion...
So I count it as a small victory that I was able to get dressed without permanently scarring any psyches. Or falling down, either, which considering how often I topple over without anesthesia, is no small achievement.
I'll tell you something else that has changed since the C&D has had these surgical procedures. In all the pre-op phone calls and letters, they emphasized the need to have a responsible party be there to take you home. Well, when the C&D had surgery, I had to provide a notarized letter from two references certifying that I was, in fact, responsible. Took me three days - even my mom said she was out of town the first two times I called. When I said the C&D was my responsible party, they just nodded and said of course. I'm very glad they've streamlined that procedure.
The best part of the ride home was stopping to get lunch, but for the life of me, I can't remember what we ate.
I can't wait for the government to take over health care so we can improve the efficiency of the whole process.... Not!
