Yesterday I had minor surgery on my right foot (there are no minor surgeries, only minor surgeons — wait, does that mean that there are surgeons below legal age?). I was at the aptly named Surgery Center for just over three hours. During that time I was out like a light for maybe an hour and a half. As one does while in for surgery I was asked a lot of questions, what is your date of birth? Is a popular one. I guess they don’t want to forget to send me a card on that special day. I was also asked a few times to confirm which foot was to be cut open. Isn’t it more important that they know that? You also get your blood pressure taken a couple of hundred times. When I was overnight for my pacemaker “procedure” My blood pressure was checked with every breath I took. They could just ask, I could tell them it’s fine, it always has been.
Does it sound like I’m complaining? I’m not. Everyone was —despite the repetitive questions — very nice, totally professional and solicitous of my needs. I have — outside the psychiatric community — had universally excellent experiences with medical professionals, most particularly nurses -- the vast majority of whom are saints.
I awoke from surgery only a little bit loopy (not the cockeyed drunk I seemed to be after the pacemaker business) and in a fine mood ready to greet one and all with a cheery hello, how are you. I was a regular hail-fellow-well-met. There were warnings of possible pain to be experienced in the coming hours and suggestions about over-the-counter pain killers to take but as I write this fifteen hours later and I haven’t felt a thing. The only thing I am feeling is a lack of sleep. I woke up at 2:37 to pee and never got back to sleep. Not even for a minute. This is an extreme rarity for me and it promises to make navigating the day a bit difficult and I’m sure there is a long nap awaiting me in the afternoon.
I’ll manage at work well enough. The crutches will just be for show for the next two days and by Monday I’ll have abandoned them completely. Meanwhile I'll garner some totally unnecessary sympathy and offers to help with small tasks.
The downsides so far have been fasting as I had to do yesterday, doing the hand-held shower thing to avoid getting the foot wet and the fact that I have to wait two weeks before returning to the gym. That’s two weeks if all goes well and I’m insisting that it do, er does.
So I’m delighted to have survived another bout on the operating table — I’m such a brave lad — and I hope not to have to visit one again for many rains.
I thank you for your indulgence as I’ve prattled on about this. You my faithful reader(s) (Lola Macaroni of Friday Harbor, Washington) make all my labors at the keyboard worthwhile.
(Just occurred to me that maybe minor surgery refers to surgeries preformed by people who work in mines. No, that would be miner surgery. I'll have to get back to you.)
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