The Surgery – Part 1

7:00 pm by

Note: Sorry for taking so long updating. I was lucid but loopy (oh, yes, friends, that is possible) all day yesterday!

Tuesday (pre-op day) was crazy busy. Housecleaning, bill-paying, catching up on work, answering emails, pre-making meals (well, menus, anyway), squaring everything away. Need proof of the craziness of Tuesday? I had a list!

Here’s my to-do list:

HAHAHA!Hahaha! OK, once I found the lost list, it looked more like this:

TheĀ  most awesome Dr G had told me at last week’s pre-op appointment that I couldn’t eat or drink anything (including water) for 8 hours prior to the surgery – contrary to what I was I told during the pre-op phone consult with the surgery center the day before, where I’d been told I couldn’t eat or drink for 12 hours. Yes, folks, 12 hours. If you’ve ever had to fast before a blood test or hospital procedure, you know how bad even 6 hours without water can be. It’s like your body goes, “WHA? I can’t have water? I will protest by giving you a perpetual case of cottonmouth the instant you know you can’t have water! That’ll show you!”

Haha from Consumerist.com

This nurse, by the way, was the same one who’d told me, during the same phone call, that I couldn’t wear my contact lenses to the operation. I was all, “Whatchoo talking about, Willis? I know someone might’ve told you I watch the surgeries on TLC, but I can assure that I will not peek while Dr G slices into my tootsies!” She said, “Ha-ha (no, really, she said “Ha-ha,” in that ‘I’m laughing but not’ kind of way perfected by the Nurse Racheds of the world). Actually we’ll be taping your eyes shut as a precautionary measure.” WHAAAA? Dr G reassured me that I would not be going completely under, I’d have IV sedation, which is a whole ‘nother ballgame. Dr G is the deliverer of very good news.

At around 7pm, the anesthesiologist called with even more very good news: I was not to eat or drink after midnight. WOOT! I celebrated by drinking a half-gallon of water, chased with a one-liter of H2O goodness. I’m not very bright sometimes.

Since the surgery was scheduled for first thing in the morning, Mr Lici made me go to bed at 9pm. (Mr Lici sez: “Yes, you are getting up at 5am. You always forget something and make us late.” What he meant was, “<evil cackle>You are getting up at 4.45am! Boo-haha!”) Whereupon I promptly guzzled another half-liter of my new favorite beverage while reading a really good book.

And since I always have bad dreams right before a big day, and my dreams are Technicolor (seriously, they’re like movies, and I can remember everything. This can be fun if the dream is about, say, Italy. The dreams following, say, a viewing of that movie where the couple set up a camera in the bedroom to capture the ghost at night – not so much). Cue tonight’s triple feature:

Dream 1: The boys are spending the night w/the Megs family because we have to get up so early. M is a notorious early riser, and also a notorious early alarm clock. He lays in his sleeping bag, where they’ve camped out in the living room, and sighs… and sighs… and sighs – until Megs comes down and clocks him with a pillow. (Not that he doesn’t deserve a pillow thunk for waking the entire house before dawn, but Megs would never do that.) In the dream, Megs calls us at 4.30am with the news that she has to take M to the ER with severe stomach pain. I jump out of bed, only to find that The Toe That Would Not Heal (henceforth known as “The Toe”) had become The Toe That Fell Off (henceforth never to be mentioned again). Screams over the closing credits as I nearly fall out of bed on for my first trip to Bruiseland via the hope chest blocking the path to restroom.

Dream 2: I am lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV and blissfully getting all of the answers wrong in my NYT crossword puzzle. (1 Down: this can be a jar. Fred. 76 across: German mister. Fred.) Mr Lici came in and calmly handed me an envelope. I, assuming it was the Advanced Directive papers I’d (of course) forgotten on the table, opened it to find out he wanted a divorce. Cue more screams over the closing credits, then we move straight to…

Image courtesy of New Line Cinemas

Dream 3: I’m in the same bed, still hooked up to the IV and doing another NYT crossword. (24 across: another word for blog. Ego. 10 down: Greek eggs. Ego.) A doctor comes in and hands me an envelope. WHAT? Now my anesthesiologist is divorcing me? He tells me what I’ve a champ I’ve been during the surgery (WHAT? I had the surgery already?) and ask me to open the envelope, which contains a check for ONE MILLION DOLLARS. I look up and suddenly realize that the doctor who’s telling me they had to amputate The Toe is DR EVIL. Mr Lici comes in, ready to pounce with his laser-beam sharks, when –

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

It’s time for all good dreamers to wake up and dream of coffee they can’t have!

Read part two, wherein the patient:

  • Says goodbye to cutsie tootsies
  • Nearly ransacks a Starbucks
  • Meets the best nurses ever
  • Isn’t patient
  • Gets a tattoo

XO,

~A

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