My first mistake was making an appointment. My second was showing up. I had developed a little, okay quite large, bulge over the last couple of years as a result of having my wound vac from my last surgery removed a little too soon. The official name is "incisional hernia.” I won't point any fingers at this time on whose fault this is I'll just say that it resulted in another trip to the surgery center for what was supposed to be a quick in-and-out procedure. Fool that I am, I fell for it and made all the arrangements, and by that, I mean I gave them an arm and a leg as pre-payment, with a promise of the other side if the insurance didn't pony up their share and prepared for the day.
The day was set, I was psyched up, then the receptionist called to postpone it for another two weeks. ARRRGGGHHH.
When the day finally arrived, I checked in at a very uncivilized 6 a.m. The doctor had assured me I would be back snug in my own bed that afternoon. I should have known better. Nothing I do is ever that easy. Part of it is probably because I am the very notorious Queen of Procrastination. I put things off until I just can't any longer and complicate the heck out of everything.
The only good thing about being anywhere at 6 a.m. is parking is a lot easier. Somehow when the new outpatient center was built, the contractors forgot that people not only drive a lot of cars, but they also drive BIG cars. The little slots painted off for each vehicle are never big enough, so everyone has to worry about banging into the other cars. Also, who the heck thought straight parking was a good idea? Cars are meant to angle.
Anyway, by 8 a.m. the lot is always overflowing which is the main reason I didn't protest a 6 a.m. check-in time. I was surprised at the number of people who were already there ahead of me waiting patiently for the hospital to take what was left of their money, but it all went pretty smoothly, and David and I were directed to another waiting room with about half a dozen patients and their plus ones waiting.
We didn't have to wait long before a nurse led us to a room with an actual door instead of the usual shower curtain. She handed me a nice (not) gown, you know the kind with no back for maximum flashage, a pair of nifty socks with the skids on the top (?) and bottom and instructed to me not tie anything and crawl into the bed.
Side Note: Why are there skid marks on the TOP of the socks? Is that so if you fall you can get traction when you crawl? Note to self: ask the next nurse I see.
I did as I was told, made myself comfy but I was suddenly cold in that nice little gown (not). The nurse came back in to check on me and get me to sign away any life I might have left, and I told her I was cold so she–I kid you not–hooked me up to what looked like a vacuum cleaner hose that could blow hot or cold air right under your blankets. Craziest thing I've ever seen.
I turned on the television and got comfortable, figuring I'd have a bit of a wait before it was my turn on the old 'butcher block'. Poor David. They give the visitors such uncomfortable chairs.
Pretty soon I was being wheeled away down a long hall and let me tell you, those nurses, or nurses aids or whomever they were, like to boogie. I had to close my eyes to keep from getting motion sickness. She drove me into the operating room, the people in there picked me up like I was nothing (I'm a whole lot of something) and plopped me onto another table.
I think they whip that little oxygen mask-looking thing out just a little too fast. Before I could survey the room to see what everything looked like, which was nothing like the only "medical" show I watch which is M*A*S*H and get a glimpse of who all the players were so I might recognize them later (yeah, right) I was out like a light.
The next thing I remembered was waking up in a room, hooked up to one of those poles that have bags hanging off them so they can pump you full of who knows what. I'd like to know why they insist on putting the dang IV in my right hand. I'm right-handed, for gosh sakes.