The Recap

I survived!

It really was not too bad a process. But it had some entertaining moments...

I arrived a checked in early at Northside Hospital, which is about 10 minutes from our house. It was about 10 am and they quickly processed me and sent me to pre-op where we were met by a very nice nurse who informed me that I would be removing all my clothing and piercings and jewelry and putting on a delightful gown. Oh boy.

Once situated on the bed under some warm blankets, she took some blood samples and asked me about 5 times if I'd had anything to eat or drink since midnight. Now this is a good moment to interject some key information. When making the arrangements for this surgery I was told not to eat anything after midnight but the reason was never fully explained. Being married to a doctor helps that. For those of you that know, humor me here, but for those of you that don't, understand that if you go under general anestesia with contents on your stomach they basically come back up and do permanent damage to your lungs. Not good. So after I had answered no, I informed the nurse that I knew the importance of this issue. She then told me how on a REGULAR basis people lie about eating or drinking something until at some point they understand the risks. If they've eaten they then get sent home. Unbelievable.

They gave me some stuff to help me relax and that was really good because the morning schedule for surgery was behind. It was two hours behind. I actually slept for like an hour and fifteen minutes. Really critical point to mention here. Not enough credit goes to your caretaker. Obviously the patient is the one going through the pain and discomfort of the procedures, but your caretaker, sits the whole time, and has to keep track of everything for you. I had done this for Stacey and few months back when she had pneumonia, and its rough.

Then gametime arrived and I was wheeled back. That is a very surreal feeling. You're lying faceup, the smell of sanitary conditions wafting through the halls. People saying things about you which you can't really make out because their words are muffled by their masks. And being wheeled around on a hospital bed like that has a similar feel to a cheap state fair ride. You pay to go on it, and they you pay for it afterwards.

I entered the OR and actually thought to myself, "this is the last sight many people have on earth." Being observant has its drawbacks. Then everything faded away. Until I woke up with the urge to vomit, and I did luckily into a container earning me the nickname for the rest of the day "the puker". Nurses don't care what you hear. I discovered this week that I have something else in common with my grandmother besides loving sports, a very low tolerance for general anestesia. Pretty much if somebody asked me a question I wanted to vomit and for the most part I did.

A nurse would move my arm, and well you get the picture. It was a less than desirable 12 hours. It took four different medications and my wife's persistence to discover the correct formula for my peaceful resting. I then was able to sleep, until I began setting off the oxygen level alarm. Apparently I wasn't breathing particularly well. This began a series of events that my wife would just soon not repeat.

While I was out of it enough to not really pay attention to anything, my wife was busy advocating for a number of things to happen. She caught a lab technician taking the wrong test, a nurse forgetting to schedule a test, a nurse not responding to vital alerts, a nurse not responding to a need for more medication, and probably a few other things I'm not even aware of. She went into on call mode Monday night and really didn't sleep. She's a great wife. The interesting thing she said to me after the fact was how much it reminded her of the importance of an advocate for the patient. Had she not been on top of things, I might have been kept for a second billable admission day because of their scheduling mishaps around testing. My insurance company should thank my wife. She saved them thousands of dollars.

Once it came time for release the final great lasting memory occurred. Here I am an otherwise healthy 27 year old male being released from the hospital and I get to be wheeled out of the facility in a wheelchair by an 80 year old woman. It just felt wrong. She was a part of their volunteer program at the hospital which is wonderful. She did a great job getting me down to the front entrance where Stacey picked me up. Very humbling. Very good to get back out into fresh air and regular life.

I'll close with this. My dad has always stressed the importance of care for people as they experience these elements of life. "There is no such thing as a routine procedure" is a phrase he says a lot when referring to his value placed on pastoral care. It means the world to know people are praying for you. It means the world to have people come by to visit, even if they only get to see the person waiting for you (thanks Jessica, Scott, and Johnny). It means the world to have someone pop into the room just to say a few nice words and pray (thanks Frank). Stacey and i were joking at home this week about a comment I'd made just before going into surgery. I said "I don't even need any relaxation medication because I feel so peaceful." Of course, how could I not, knowing that probably several hundred people were literally praying for God's peace to be with me heading into the surgery. I didn't have a chance against that kind of intercession.