Twas the night before going under the knife and all through the house everybody, mostly me, is ready for something that should have happened two months ago. Ladies and gentlemen, mostly gentlemen, it's time. Let's hope the surgeon has steady hands and that I don't bleed out.
The outpatient procedure (left discectomy on L3-L5) is scheduled for no longer than an hour and a half. 9:30-11:00 EST. The optimism shown by the medical staff that I would be pain-free as soon as I woke up just pisses me off considering the resources expended over the last two months to keep me in excruciating pain and bound to a wheelchair. A lot of people got paid at my expense. I lost significantly during the last two months. Not just pain, but money, and lost time. Ironically my medical insurance company has also lost significantly. Their seeming reticence to approve surgery resulted in a two month long continuous out payment for things I didn't need… yet ultimately it all still results in the surgery that everyone but me (and Deep Throat) wanted to avoid. We both knew it was going to be a discectomy on 18 August.
Tonight however I am finally surgery bound. I want to describe the pre-surgical procedures as they are interesting and have clearly developed over a long history of shit going horribly wrong.
First you have to sign your life away to the person who's bringing you to the outpatient surgical center. Easy to think of all the things going horribly wrong here. Surgical patient discharged to the parking lot. The car accidents while still on sedation. The sutured surgical wounds becoming unsutured, etc. Use your imagination here and it's probably happened. They make sure a responsible adult is on the premises. So please provide the name, age, rank, relation, serial number, phone number and acknowledge that they are going to stay with you for 24 hours.
After my sister, I'll always be there for you, said no she wouldn't be there for me. I was left with no choice but to ask my 60 year old, male roommate Felix Unger. When his wife kicked him out, with nowhere else to go, he arrived at the home of his friend, Oscar Madison. Several years earlier, his wife had done the same, requesting that he never return. Can two divorced men share an apartment without driving each other crazy? Cue the theme song from “The Odd Couple” …Da doot da doot da dooo… dat da dooo dat da dooo da…
Who remembers that show? Was Felix gay? They certainly wanted Oscar to be a man’s man. Felix, as I remember, was fairly pedantic about cleaning around the house. He was also a gourmet cook. I'm in the same situation. My 60 year old friend and I are this odd couple. He cares about every detail around the house. I do not give two shits about any detail. I think it hurts his feelings although he doesn't appear to take it personally. For instance this evening after dinner I began hydrating with Gatorade. The next pre-surgical recommendation, hydration. His suggestion was for me to hydrate with Pedialyte instead. He even had some Pedialyte he could share with me. Then he wanted to show me how to change the washable air filter on the hepa air filter in my room. Recall one of the ways I abused my back the past year was helping him move his stuff out of his apartment. That move itself didn't put me in the Emergency Room, it did, add to the stack of abuse I was laying on my lumbar region. It's only fitting that he gets tasked with making sure I get home safely. There couldn't be a better choice.
I should have put him in charge of my medical care. At 60, with no kids, he's the ultimate helicopter dad. The surgical center will no doubt think we are lovers, at our age, living together, that's just how it has to be. My sister was my first choice, the ultimate helicopter mom. The important thing is that I hydrated, so I stuck to my Gatorade. Not sure why hydration is a huge thing…I do know it could delay surgery. They might have to juice you up with an IV bag ahead of time. These guys want no delays.
Once the nurse confirmed I was going to get to surgery and home safely, we discussed more things. Seven days before surgery no more NASIDS or aspirin. These meds thin your blood. If your blood is too thin it doesn't clot as well. Bleeding out is a complication they want to avoid.
Infection is something they want to avoid in all surgeries, it's particularly nasty if they leave you with an infection in your spine. So they want you to disinfect your skin by washing with Dial Gold antibacterial soap. I thought I could go with the hand soap and pump bottle, Felix however would not stand for it and thus it was necessary for me to bathe with bar soap…and a new bar of soap for each shower. Eight bars of Dial Gold appeared on my table the next day. He did the math right. A new bar for each shower and two showers the day before. So I've been living the dream with Dial Soap. You never feel more squeaky clean. Your skin feels tight after using it.
No eating after midnight, another important rule. Clear fluids only, including black coffee, no cream or milk. Nothing at all after 6 am. This is so you don't throw up during the administration of the anesthesia and breathe it into your lungs. A situation that upsets both the surgeon and the anesthesiologist as now they must stop and save your life during the surgery.
There is a pre-surgical physical that also was accomplished, in my case, three weeks out. Blood tests, an EKG, all to prevent another emergency from happening while they have you on your stomach with your back cut open. This is a bad time to choose cardiac arrest, for example.
No contact lenses. Can't think of a horrible scenario here happening in surgery. I can think of one or two prior to surgery, if I can't see dick. The nurse told me to bring my glasses. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that I don't have glasses. I'll do my best to make it in from the parking lot. Felix will help.
A strange rule, a problem unrelated to surgery, is that I must leave all my valuables at home…I wasn't preparing to bring my stamp collection, that seems strange. But watches and rings make sense. No wallet though… I can only bring my drivers license and insurance card. Of course they want that. Seemingly crime must be rampant at the surgical center.
The final rule, they don't want me taking any of the meds I am on. As my pain returns in the morning, that should make it fun laying on my stomach for the surgery. Perhaps I'll be on my back until they knock me out…then they can roll me onto my stomach exposing my butt in the process. The good news is, with those eight bars of Dial Soap all used up, my butt has never been cleaner.
Well here we go. I've never looked forward to surgery more. No need to wish me luck. Prognosis is a 100% certainty. If it's not a 100% certainty my faith in any sort of knowledge about the human body we claim to believe will be shattered. Barring any sort of mistake this fix will work. So as you pray for me today, don't pray for the fix, pray that my surgeon has the hands of Diego Maradona during the 1986 World Cup match against England.
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