I hadn't been to Rhode Island Hospital in ages. No reason to, really. I was here in 1980 for shoulder surgery and think the only times I'd come since were to visit people or do stories on something there.
But Monday, Nov. 7, 2011, I show up to be starved, sliced open and medicated. Mmm, what fun..
Dr. Christopher DiGiovanni is my surgeon, a great guy, one of the best foot doctors in New England. Must ask how he got into that specialty. That amazes me, how docs get into specialties. I mean really, how the hell does anyone end up, pun intended, in proctology for example?
I follow instructions and have nothing to eat or drink after midnight. My surgery's at 2 p.m. Anyone knowing my appetite knows that for me, that's about like not eating for a month. But I did it, amazingly, maybe nerves ate into my desire to eat, who knows.
So I'm in the little pre-operating area, whatever that's called, and they're all super nice, very friendly, laughing at my stupid jokes, making me feel like I matter. Weird thing about modern surgery: You clean yourself first. Really. I'd been given instructions to wash with a special soap the night before and morning of surgery, and then that morning, in that little pre-op area, a nice nurse hands me a little tub of soap and a brush and tells me to wash my leg and achille's area for five minutes.
This strikes me as odd. I mean, don't THEY clean the surgical area, too? Yes, they do, but patients have to do it first. Why, I have no idea. Make us feel part of the process? I'd rather just lay back with a ham sandwich, thank you very much, but since that wasn't gonna happen, I just scrubbed my foot as directed.
There are a lot of people in this room. Maybe it's me, maybe it's my imagination, maybe it's the sedative they just pumped into my IV. Whatever, there are a lot of people in this room. They wheel me out to the OR and I make more stupid jokes which they laugh at, or not, I'm too fuzzy at this point to really know or care, and then looking up at the lights in the OR and commenting on the sheer volume of people milling about ready to take care of my big hurt left foot, boom, gone, out like a light, remembering nothing until hours later in recovery when the first thing I do is ask for some food, please, I'm starving here.
My girlfriend comes in and later comments I seemed out of it, more so than usual. True, I was. But I do recall just how good that coffee and buttered wheat toast tasted.
They tell me they're keeping me over night, no idea why, maybe they told me, but I'm too groggy to remember. I immediately say "Fine, great, when's dinner?" I cannot believe how hungry I am. They say sometimes after surgery and anesthesia, patients throw up. Me, I just wanted to throw down as much food as possible.
In my room, I got a chicken dinner. Not enough. They brought me some pot roast. OK, getting there. An hour later, I sheepishly asked for something else, and so they brought me a turkey sandwich. Nice, now I'm getting full.
Slept pretty good, no pain at all, oddly enough, but they kept asking if I wanted pain meds, I kept saying no until about midnight when I relented. Slept pretty good save for the every few hours of being woken up to test my vitals. I mean, I'm breathing, isn't that a good indication my vitals are OK? WHy can't they just leave you alone to sleep? Hospitals are weird like that. But bless my nurse, I told her I was hungry and she offered to get me food. Nah, I'll wait and double down on breakfast.
Another plus: Urinals, those portable ones they give you in hospitals. The guys have it made, it's not a bed pan but a big spacious plastic container that is SO easy to use in the middle of the night. Best part: You leave it on your night table and someone miraculously comes to dump it while you sleep. The hospital pee fairy I figure. Whatever, I'm loving it.
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