Friday, March 25, 2011.
D-Day.
The day got off to a bad start. We showed up at the wrong campus of Ochsner for my ankle surgery. Neither one of us remembers hearing that my surgery would take place at the familiar main hospital on Jefferson Highway, instead of at the Baptist campus, where the first attempt was made last week. On the other hand, neither of us asked, either.
So we arrived a half-hour late. This didn't seem to bother the staff which, as soon as I was in the bed, got right to work on me. The first person to visit was the anesthesiologist, an older doctor who told me that he'd been at this work for forty years. I took an instant liking to him. And an even greater one when one of the nurses noticed that I'd left my briefs on under my backless hospital gown. He told her not to bother about that.
Speaking of. . . two days ago, Mary Ann and I discussed those gowns. I wondered why they're made that way. The answer is so obvious that I felt like a moron for not knowing. "It's because all the parts of you that you'd least want people to look at are in front," she explained. Of course.
Many members of the staff came by, each asking many of the same questions. Quite a few of these of these were to ascertain that a) I was the right patient for the procedure about to be performed on my body and 2) that the correct limb would be worked on. They pointed out (before I had a chance) that in my case the answer to 2) was obvious, what with the large splint on my left foot. But they wrote the information down on my skin just to be completely sure (and to satisfy procedure).
This routine reminded me of a responsibility Mary Ann charged me with when both our children were born. I was to watch the baby come out, then never let it out of my sight until the name band was attached to the baby's arm. She wanted no mixups. (There were none: one look at our kids leaves no doubt that they are siblings.)
The anesthesiologist introduced me to his daughter, also an MD in that specialty, and also working on me. There was no mistaking the relationship. She spoke to him the way my daughter speaks to me, and rolled her eyes at his witticisms the way Mary Leigh does to mine. I love it. I have real people attending me.
Pops told me to roll over onto my stomach so they could get to work on a nerve block to remove all feeling from my lower leg. He brought a pile of blankets for me to put my head on. I did as he asked. That was the last thing I remembered, until. . .
. . . until I realized I was awake. The staff was nearby, but not paying me much mind. Same place where I had conked out. Same monitors beeping the same way. Had anything happened yet? Somehow, I knew it all had, and I felt the unmistakable thrill of victory. A minute into this inspection of reality, Mary Ann walked in. She says that she found me babbling on and on about how easy that had been, how I felt great, what a superb bunch of professionals these folks were, how lucky I was to have this done in such a great medical institution, on and on. She says I get too happy about everything. The nurses smiled politely.
It should be noted that at this time I was taking no drug that would have altered my brain. Nor did I feel any dullness in my thoughts. It was just the ecstasy of having something fearsome past.
I came in around ten. I came to around one-thirty. We departed the hospital before four. I could see no reason for not doing so. The only thing I was even a little concerned about was that in three days I would have to remove a catheter, the one anesthetizing my foot from what they said would probably be serious pain. Couldn't prove it by me at that point. The worst part of it was that I had to carry what looked like a purse over my shoulder for two days.
We drove home through rush hour traffic, but were back home at the Cool Water Ranch around six. I had a supper of another big slice of Carmelo's pizza, and went down for the night around eight.
That really was not so bad a day as I thought it would be.
