Oh The Fun We'll Have!

 This past Wednesday morning, I had to roust out of my bed early so that I could make a trip to the hospital for a scheduled knee replacement surgery. I've been through this procedure once before, on my left knee, now it was time to experience the joy on my right one.

Part of the reason I haven't been on Fan Story much lately is because of the preparation involved prior to the operation. I wanted to get all my papers together to send down to the accountant so I wouldn't be trying to do tax papers while I was in a pleasant stupor brought on by the powerful drugs that the doctor prescribed for the post surgery operation. I also wanted to get all the bills paid up and had the oil changed in the car so Jan wouldn't have to think about it, not that changing the oil in the car would have occurred to her otherwise, but just as a precaution.

I'd forgotten about how many tests I'd have to undergo in the week or so prior to visiting the hospital. I had an EKG, a blood test, I think a stress test, and Lord knows what all else. Every time I went in to see about one of the tests, I had to give a complete rundown of my medical history, mention which knee was getting worked on, and let them know my name and date of birth, sometimes three times during the same visit. I also had a pre-op visit with the physician who was going to do the procedure. By the time I finished hearing what they were going to do to my body, I was having second thoughts, but I persevered. I figured that if I waited too much longer, I might never recover.

On Wednesday, I went to the hospital as I'd been told, filled out more paperwork, confirmed who I was again, and received a little plastic wrist band. Then I was told to go to the OR waiting room until I was called. The staff wasn't even there yet, so I don't know why I had to be early, but I didn't ask any questions.

Of course once inside, after a few pleasantries, they told me to strip down and put on one of those gowns with a slit from top to bottom in the back. They don't mess around. "Hi my name is SO and So, take off your clothes and sit on the bed."

For some reason they gave me a pair of red socks with rubber dots on the bottom so I wouldn't slip. I don't know why, it's not like I was going to get up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the operation. Then the nurse took a Q-tip full of iodine, and swabbed each nostril ten times; I suppose because they thought I didn't look ridiculous enough with a paper thin gown on, my nostrils had to look like they were going to spout fire at any moment. I was glad there were no mirrors in the room.

I was starting to shiver a little bit, and to my great relief, the nurse put a warm blanket on me, though I knew the minute I got into the operating room they would hike that gown up to my neck and all sense of modesty would go out the window. I think in order for the patients to be more at ease, the doctors and nurses should all operate in the nude. Well, maybe they could all wear those non-slip socks, as a sense of oneness with the patients.

I don't want to get too graphic, but at seventy two years of age, there have been some changes to my body. Much like George Castanza after he had stepped out of the pool when the water was cold, there was SIGNIFICANT shrinkage, if you know what I mean. I kind of wanted to point that out, but I felt like it would fall on deaf ears, so why bother? They probably all know about turtles retreating into their shells when they're frightened.

When the doctor made his appearance, I checked to make sure he and his wife hadn't fought the night before, and that he was well rested. Of course there wasn't much I could have done about it one way or another, but it never hurts to check.

I remember speaking to the anesthesiologist and grilling her with probing questions, then she gave me a little plastic cup with two pills to help me relax, and that's all she wrote. When I awoke a few hours later, two nurses were speaking to me. I just wanted to sleep, but they wouldn't let me. At one point I thought I had to pee, so one nurse attached a belt to my waist and helped me to the bathroom. Not surprisingly, the urge to pee disappeared like a fart in the wind. There's nothing like having a stranger in the bathroom with you hanging on to your waist to make your bladder do a rendition of the Mohave desert.

They had mentioned at the hospital that the drugs they gave me would cause constipation. They weren't wrong. I recall that unpleasant experience the last time I had a knee replaced. After three days of taking in food, but not getting rid of any, my bowels were the equivalent of a ten car pileup on Interstate 5, there was no movement, and the authorities had been called. I took a laxative called Ducolax to no avail. Then I downed a whole bottle of Magnesium Citrate, which helped last time, but didn't do squat this time. Finally I ate a handful of prunes and chased it with a glass of warm prune juice. YUK! I finally sensed some progress, but frankly, it was slow and painful. Again, I don't want to be too graphic, but I can only liken it to trying to shove a bowling ball down a straw. I was grateful that there were handles on the handicapped toilet seat that I borrowed from a charity that lends out things like that.

My current status is that I'm feeling somewhat better, but the knee still hurts like the dickens, and I sleep a lot, mainly because of the drugs that plug me up I guess. I have a machine that bends my knee for me and one that has a bladder that fits over my leg and runs ice water through it to hold down the swelling, though my leg resembles Andre' the Giant's I believe. Hopefully sooner than later I'll be able to take a shower again, and I'll get off these damn meds. I can't sit for long periods of time at the computer, so I probably won't be writing much, but you're all on my mind and in my prayers. Keep cranking out the good stuff and keeping the troops entertained. God bless you all!