Well it looks like you all lucked out and I made it through my surgery okay. What’s that? You don’t want my cynically based take on something millions of people go through everyday? I didn’t think you did but I’m going to tell you anyway.
I got there about noon and filled out all of the odd paperwork about my medical history. The weirdest question was “Are you allergic to latex, rubber, kiwi or strawberries?” Is that in the event they run out of gloves and there is a salad bar near by? “Well dammit nurse just find something! What’s that? Kiwi fruit? Fashion me a glove! Stat!”
Some of the questions on the form are odd but not as odd as the ones you have to answer when you’re donating blood. If you want to have fun with the people at the blood donation place tell them you just got back from a sex filled romp through Uganda while sharing heroin needles. You will see a look of panic wash over their face faster than something appropriately fast to fit this analogy.
So the time finally comes for me to relinquish all dignity and I am told to go ahead and put on the oh so flattering hospital gown. I’m standing in this room holding what looks to be a bandana with three button snaps on it. I have a hard enough time figuring out the self service pump at a gas station let alone assembling my own ‘clothing’. After about five minutes though I figured it out. Like it mattered. I could have just stripped down to nothing and felt just as covered.
So I am sitting in the bed half naked with a small blanket covering my nether regions while trying to make conversation with my mom. That was a little awkward. We sat there for about ten minutes before the phlebotomist came in to draw blood and hook my IV up. That’s eye-vee and not the Roman Numeral for ‘four’. I’ve never seen anyone hook up a four before so I didn’t want to confuse anyone.
The phlebotomist tells me that the surgeon is running ahead of schedule so that I might be able to get in earlier than scheduled. That seemed cool until I began to wonder exactly why he was ahead of schedule. “Well it looks like this one died. Oh well. One less and I’m ahead of schedule. Great!” Thanks doc.
After I’m hooked up to a sack of fun juice, which sounds so much dirtier than it should, the nurse comes in and asks me if I have a living will. I told her no and that I wasn’t exactly sure what that was. She said that if something were to go wrong that I would need to let them know whether or not I wanted to be on life support. I told them I would not want to be put on life support and asked if I had to sign anything. She asked if the woman in the room was my mom, and I said yes. The nurse said that was good enough. Nothing like a decision about my being put on life support being a verbally binding agreement. I get more paperwork when I order food from Taco Bell and that’s just a burrito.
A few minutes later the OR nurse comes in and asks when the last time I ate was. I told her I ate half of a peanut butter sandwich at six am because the operation was at two and I was told I could eat at that time. She said that because I had eaten there was a high risk chance that I would cough food into my lungs. While it sounds scary not any one of my friends would be surprised if I died by inhaling peanut butter. Not because I eat a lot but because that would be par for the proverbial course for me. “Joel died how? Huh. Gotta be honest, not surprised.”
Finally the time comes for me to be wheeled into the OR. I felt more stupid than I normally do. Here I was being wheeled past attractive and intelligent doctors and nurses and I’m dressed in little more than a rag. It was like that prom I overdosed on heroin all over again. I’m kidding. I didn’t have a prom.
When I get into the actual operating room I hear something worse than anything I could have imagined. I guess they pipe music in for the doctors to listen to and the song playing was ‘Every Rose Has It’s Thorn’ by Poison. Great. The last song I may ever hear is that song. That was horrible. This means the surgeon has crummy taste in music and also I was possibly going to be ushered into the afterlife as Poison played in the background. Again, not surprising if you know me.
Then I wake up. Turns out I wasn’t dead. I was just in recovery. Everything went fine. They sent off whatever they took out of my leg to be tested. I know that my growth was really wanting to get into Harvard so we’ll see what happens! I don’t understand why they have to send something like that off to be tested. If you can field test crack than you should be able to tell me if I’m dying or not. They can too field test for crack. I’ve seen it on COPS. Don’t argue with me.
So they wheel me from recovery back into the first room I was in so I can regain my dignity by getting dressed again. I’m sure the staff couldn’t wait for that to happen soon enough either. Before that happens though a nurse walks in and asks if I’m in pain. I tell him that my leg hurts and he says that he’ll take care of that. He says he’s going to inject me directly instead of running the medication through the IV because it would take too long. It was at this point he injected me with what can only be classified as a massive dose of Morphine. Sweet moons over my hammy is that some good stuff. If you can get a hold of some, go for it. It’s well worth it.
So they wheel me out in my Morphine induced haze to the front of the hospital where my mom had pulled the car up. I swear I was so messed up that I’m pretty sure the huge statue of Jesus in the lobby winked at me. Word.
I feel the Morphine wearing off as I was riding home. I had told my mom I wanted to go to Pepe Delgadoes to get something to eat but she said that she had to go pick up my sister to take her to swim class but was willing to come back and take me to get something to eat. I told her not to worry and that I felt I could drive. She insisted I wait but I told her I was fine to drive. She said alright and she left. I got in my car and got halfway to Pepe’s when I realized I wasn’t cool at all. I had dropped my glasses off at the optometrist yesterday to get my new prescription which won’t be ready for a week, so driving at night is a little iffy as it is but with the added narcotics in my system is was truly psychedelic. I somehow managed to get to the restaurant, get my food, and make it home safely. Besides, Jesus winked at me so I knew I would be alright.
So that’s my surgery story. Thanks for all the cards and letters I didn’t get. Also if you want to send me a video iPod as a get well gift I’ll go ahead and give you my address.
RIGHT NOW
SONG - Jolene by Cake off of Motorcade Of Generosity. I love Cake and I love this song because it’s one of those songs where I have this elaborate vision of what the video would be like. Besides, you can’t say Jolene without saying Joel. That’s never bad.
MOVIE - Punch Drunk Love. Trust me, this is one of the sweetest movies ever made. It is in my top ten list of all time favorite movies. Not that you care but I’d thought I’d tell you.
Holla.
- Joel