Just over a month ago (9/9/09 to be exact) I went in for my hernia surgery. It was a blast... except for the whole getting cut open part.
I wasn't allowed any food or liquid after midnight the night before the surgery which was kind of a drag but not as much of a drag as not being able to take any kind of painkillers for the entire week proceeding the surgery. The carrot being dangled in front of my face was the promise of awesome drugs at the end of the experience.
Surprisingly, I was able to sleep the night before going to the hospital. I had to get up sometime before the sun rose to get ready for my 8:30 AM check-in. Per the packet I got in the mail before surgery I wasn't allowed any kind of deodorant or cologne. I'm sure the hospital staff is always glad to see sweaty, nervous people checking in.
So I showered, shaved, combed my hair and tried to keep the feeling that I wasn't going to wake up after going under in check. Reviewing the statistics really kept me from going completely nuts. A guy in his 30's in okay health has a pretty good shot at making it through a routine surgery. I could also tell that I'd do fine because my surgeon had 1) Done my dad's hernia surgery last year, and 2) The way he treated the surgery with the casual nature of someone that has preformed it hundreds (if not thousands) of times before. Just like flushing a toilet.
Shannon and I drove to the hospital, making it just in time for my check-in. My surgery had originally been scheduled for that afternoon but I had received a call the day before advising me that it had been bumped up.... Thanks to my father.
Five years ago my dad has lost his job as a dental technician and was unemployed for a couple years. Eventually, he got a job at the same hospital my mother works at working in environmental services. To be succinct, he cleans up operating rooms. I once asked him if all the blood and gore bothered him and he responded, "Well, it's not mine so not really."
Anyways, he had my surgery rescheduled under the guise of it being better time-wise for recovery. That is to say, I'd be able to get home and get prescriptions filled that night with the minimum of effort. It's my opinion, however, that he wanted to keep an eye on me.
When I checked in, I left Shannon in the waiting room (complete with four month old magazines) and went back to the pre-op area. As I mentioned previously I had been fighting to keep it in check, I had even considered letting Shannon drive the car to the hospital so I wouldn't alter course to Canada.
While I was waiting they had me get naked and put on the traditional hospital gown (the one that allowed for my ass to hang out). A nice nurse came and gave me shot in the arm that numbed it up enough for her to put in my IV. "You'll feel some pressure" and I did. My dad came back and checked on me, I think he was more nervous than I was.
After about an hour they brought Shannon back to wait with me. Doctors and nurses were in and out while we waited. They told me about the kind of stuff they were going to use to put me under, they gave me some concentrated antibiotics in my IV and then it was time for the area to be "prepped." That's code for having my pubes shaved.
When the nurse (a different one, it seems like they had a different activity. She must have drawn the short straw) came back to shave me, I had to make Shannon leave the room. I don't think I would have been able to keep a straight face. I already had the mantra "no boners, no farts" going through my head.
It was weird having my crotch barbered and even weirder that I was told that it may tickle. Moreover, it was weird that she was so conversational. I guess when you look at wieners and hoo-hahs all day it all becomes old hat. Even when faced with a phallus as tremendous as mine.
Freshly shorn, it was now time for the shot that was designed to calm me down. They straightened out my bed and wheeled me down the hall, followed by Shannon and my dad. While they were moving me to the OR there was music being played over the PA, it was the music box like lullaby tune. I was pretty high at this point and I couldn't see anything (I had given Shannon my glasses and wallet) but I do remember we shared a look of mutual confusion.
Then I was in the OR. I had been told that I may not remember anything after they gave me the first shot, but I somehow was able to keep with it. The had me shift over from my bed to the operating table (which was cold on my bare ass) and then they brought down the mask and told me to breath deeply. I took three big huffs off of the gas and then...
To be continued...right now!
...I woke up. I was in the recovery area, my eyes were heavy and it felt like I had been stabbed. Oh, did it ever. I had heard stories from my dad about patients that come out of it crying or ready to fight, luckily I was right back to "normal."
I don't know if this is a point of pride or not but they had to shoot up my IV bag a few times before the edge came off. Also, I'm pretty sure the vicodin they gave me after that cost about $800.
My father came back to see me first and asked how I was doing. I responded, "I had the strangest dream... and you were there, and you were there..." A Wizard of Oz joke to lighten the mood. After that, they brought Shannon back and I decided it would be funny to pretend like there had been a problem during surgery and act like I had no memory of her.
Aside from the stabby feeling, I had the shakes really bad. I wasn't exactly cold (even though my ass was hanging out as previously noted) but I was impatient as all get out. I just wanted to get dressed and get home.
Getting dressed the first time after surgery was fine, the three shots of whatever and vicoden made the stabby-ness tolerable. I was a long walk to the discharge area so they had me wheeled out to the car. Then it was off to CVS to get my prescription filled!
At CVS I slowly hobbled around on my cane, bent slightly at the waist. I wasn't yet able to stand up straight (It would be a couple of weeks...). We ran into one of our friends and I promptly jabbed her with my cane. Searing physical pain aside, this was getting to be a pretty sweet deal.
We got home I got into bed and took a couple of pills, read some comics and watched some DVDs. It'd been a long day so I took a couple more pills and checked out around midnight. When I woke up I thought I had been asleep for the entire night, the clock across the room looked like it was seven in the morning. Oh no, it was three.
It was three in the morning and my pain was back in full effect. I had to wake Shannon up to get me more pills. It was only later in the day that I found out my pills weren't working like they should and had to call my doctor for another prescription.
The few weeks of my recovery were some of the best times in recent memory. After the first week's discomfort I literally had nothing to do. It was like how I imagine rich people live, except for the money bit. So I guess it was a bir more like being retired... and on a fixed income.
Going back to work was one of the most difficult things I ever had to do. It was very much akin to a child being sent to school after a long and awesome summer vacation. I had discovered that what I liked doing best in life was nothing...and now I was having to go back to "something."
In closing, I'd like to say: Medical Leave... it's nice work if you can get it.
