THE OPERATION - Terrible, Horrible
As most of you know Mrs.T has a fake knee. As she describes below, after Italy she decided it was time to get another on the other side. The day turned into quite an ordeal. Mrs.T has been in quite a bit of pain, both physical and psychic. And her memory is sometimes a bit off. Thus you will read the Editor figures in her comments. Some of you will say she is right on target; some of you will think that she is talking about someone else. The truth lies somewhere in between.
I knew it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. (See the children's book: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. -dt) I knew because it was the day of THE OPERATION!!
Because it was the day of THE OPERATION I had to get up very early. I hate getting up early. I need my sleep. "Hurry! Hurry!" said my grumpy husband. He is in charge of getting me to the hospital. Because of THE OPERATION I cannot eat breakfast. I cannot drink anything either. My throat feels like a cactus. I hate THE OPERATION.
THE OPERATION is really my fault. My knee had been bad for a long time. I walked and walked in Italy trying to see lots of things. My knee had a flat tire and now I need a new one. My husband had to drive 75 miles to get to the hospital. We passed one closed road and three traffic slowdowns because of accidents. "You see why we had to start early," he said. "Yes dear," I said. (R slept through most of the trip as usual. -dt)
When we got to the hospital it was a very big place. It had three front doors. "Well, where are we supposed to go in?" my grumpy husband asked. I did not know and I told him that. I thought one sign pointed to a door that said Main Entrance. "HOW DID YOU GET TO BE 67 YEARS OLD AND STILL CAN'T READ A SIGN?" my grumpy husband shouted at me. (Although she is a prodigious reader of fiction, R often is rather slow with everyday material. -dt) I felt very bad. "Get the book," my grumpy husband commanded. I got the official book about new knees operations. It did not tell where we were supposed to go in. "THIS BOOK IS USELESS!" my grumpy husband shouted. (R says I shout even when I whisper. -dt) Well, in this case it was useless. I knew it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
My husband went in to check it out. Then I went in to register while he went to find a place to park. There were lots of cars there. I asked him to give me my insurance cards but he would not do it. (Did not happen. -dt) When I went in the first thing they ask for was my insurance cards. I explained that my husband had them and he was parking. "You must not mind him he is a little grumpy," I explained. We went through a bunch of other things, name, address, date of birth, that kind of thing. The lady already had all this information; perhaps it was a test to see if I was who I claimed. Although I can't really think there are many people claiming to be me to get a knee replacement but I suppose anything is possible.
Eventually my husband returned and handed over the cards. The lady made copies and gave them back. My husband took over answering all the questions. This went well until we got to the living will. "Well did you forget to bring it?" my husband accused. "It is in the bag," I replied. "We have it here," my husband informed the lady. "I need it now." The lady calmly replied. "Well, I suppose you expect me to go out and get it," my husband grumped. "Yes, please," she said sweetly. We had finished with the rest when he returned and she copied the will and gave me my bracelet and we were off to another waiting room.
The tech who took us asked me my name and date of birth although we had just been introduced. She checked it against my bracelet to see if I was whom I claimed to be. This procedure was repeated many, many times. I wondered if they had misplaced a lot of patients in the past. After several more times I was possessed of an almost uncontrollable urge to claim to be George M. Cohan born on the 4th of July. I behaved myself. (The 'anxiety' pill R took before entering the building was probably kicking in. -dt)
I limped down the hall to the waiting room - lippity, lippity, not very fast. We had lost my husband to a restroom when I was delivered to the desk. After I recited my name and date of birth I signed something and was given two secret numbers. The first secret number was for friends and family so they could call and ask how I was doing. The second number was for my husband so that when he was not with me he could look me up on the status board to see what was up with me. I knew it was going to be a long, hard, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
My husband turned up and I explained the secret numbers and gave them to him. I looked around this was a very BIG waiting room. There was lots of waiting going on around here. I waited and waited. I was about to ask if I could sleep on my husband's shoulder when my person showed up calling for Rebecca. Even though she had just called my name I still had to recite my name and date of birth and she had to check my bracelet before she to could take me back to be 'prepped' for THE OPERATION. My husband could not come; this was a mixed blessing. He is annoying but he is also comforting.
I went back to prep station 4. After I recited my name and DOB and was checked against my bracelet I got to put on a gown; I hate those things. I was hooked up to a machine that recorded my vital signs. A nurse hooked up my IV. "You will feel a little prick, " the nurse said. I felt a BIG Jab. "We can adjust that," she said and poked me again even harder. I miss the kind and gentle phlebotomist nurse at my doctor's office. (I call her the vampire. -dt) It was a long, hard, painful, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. The nurse asked all kinds of health questions. Every so often the machine would beep. "Take deep breaths," the nurse said. After I took a few deep breaths the beeping stopped. The nurse said an anesthesia doctor would come to see me soon; then she went away.
I was bored. I tried to lower my blood pressure on the machine. It did not work. I sometimes can do this but not today. I tried making pictures on the machine with my breathing. I could make tall spiky lines, with quick breaths. I could make mountains with long slow breaths. I could make Devils Tower; take a deep breath, hold it, let it out quickly. My husband came then to keep me company. I showed him my Devils Tower. "You are acting like a 12 year old," he grumped. (She was, but I did not say so. -dt) I suppose I was. I stopped playing with the machine except when it beeped I took deep breaths.
The nurse returned and began asking questions about pain. " What is your pain level now?" she asked. "Two," I replied. The nursed wrote down two. We want to get your pain under control before we send you home after THE OPERATION the nurse said. What would be a good pain level you could handle at home? "Nine," my husband replied positively. (In jest. -dt) Both the nurse and I gave him dirty looks. "Well she handles pain well," he replied to our unspoken criticism. "Six or seven" I said. The nurse wrote down four or five.
The anesthesia doctor came. He explained about the new painkillers. "I don't like your oxygen," he said. I held my breath in fear. The machine beeped. I made deep breaths. "We will give you a breathing treatment then we will see," the doctor said. "If your not oxygen levels do not improve you can't have THE OPERATION." After all this I just wanted to get it over with. I had the treatment. I breathed better for a little while but then the machine beeped again - low oxygen. I am going to talk to the surgeon the anesthesia doctor said.
The two doctors returned. "I am sorry you cannot have THE OPERATION today," the surgeon told me. I looked at them with what my husband calls my sad cow eyes. It did not work. "You see if there is a problem with the anesthesia something bad might happen during or after THE OPERATION, something like a stroke or a heart attack." Tears streamed silently down my face. (Unbeknownst to me. -dt) My father died of heart failure after surgery. Today was a long, hard, painful, scary, high blood pressure, low oxygen, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Unlike some of our missives this one is very current. Mrs.T is still not in the best of shape physically or emotionally. But she did manage to secure an appointment with a pulmonologist in Columbus in about ten days; the one in Zanesville was not going to be available until almost the end of August. Of course we expect tests, treatments, and the usual medical mumbo jumbo. Depending upon that assessment we will see when the knee operation can be rescheduled. Unfortunately, especially when including the time necessary for rehab, we could start to bump into our winter departure date. But we need this to be done so that Rebecca can still enjoy SCUBA and horses in Mexico.
Stay tuned for an update later this summer.
Dan and Rebecca
www.casa-de-terrible.blogspot.com
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