This summer has been less than stellar because I had to have my gallbladder removed. I suppose that I should look at the glass half full, and appreciate the fact that I live in a time and a place where I had the option for a surgical procedure that left me with only four small scars. I should further appreciate that I walked out of the hospital after five hours when those scars were still sutured incisions.
But, I’d rather bitch about the post surgery inconvenience and the pre-surgery preparation. Also, I shall include some bitching about the hospital and that experience.
So, I’ll start with the preparation. To begin with, there’s the series of doctors appointments. Ultra sound and the wonderful arse scoping appointments to determine if it was actually my gallbladder that was causing the problems I was experiencing. It would seem that an arse scoping or butt probe, is in of itself a dignity free experience. But the preparation is detestably worse. Actually, the removal of a redundant organ and the scoping shared the commonality of blissful unconsciousness. The fucking prep on the other hand was a wide awake, fully aware, series of indignities that I was compelled to inflict upon myself.
I don’t know if the scientific term I’m looking for is cohesion or adhesion. I’m also not sure if surface tension of water plays a part in the required flushing, but I think I can describe the ordeal without being sure which term best describes the science.
The night before and morning of the surgery you need to cleanse. Cleanse is a nice deceptive word. What it really means is that you mix human Drano and water into a bottle the size of an anti=freeze jug. Then you guzzle repetitive glasses of this vile potion quicker than it escapes from your non-guzzling end. I didn’t think I was going to have a problem. The mixture tasted like shit, but I can drink tequila without lemon or salt so that part was disgusting but not impossible. I also had all kinds of confidence that I could keep my ass clenched well enough to make it to a bathroom before any violent expulsion took place.
I was only half right. However, the leakage, although surprising, was minimal as I was in proximity to a human Drano repository.
And here’s where the cohesion, adhesion part comes in. I hadn’t expected the Drano water and whatever else was now mixed in with it, to adhere to both sides of my sitting butt cheeks and flow upward and around. I expected a straight blowout without any contact with the entirety of my ass cheeks. But the chemical properties of bonded hydrogen and oxygen had other ideas.
It was a fucking terrible experience. But in a way the disappearance of control of one’s body and the indignity associated with losing that control was a decent precursor for the hospital experience.
Because hospitals are designed to break you of silly notions you might hold. Notions like privacy, dignity and self determination. It all starts with the fucking bracelet. Once they affix the bracelet to you, you’re basically a prisoner. The next step is to take all of your personal possessions. Then your clothes vanish and you’re left in a freezing room with your ass hanging out of a miniature gown. Even if you feel like escaping you can’t shake the feeling that as you bolt down a hall with your ass hanging out, that the nurses are going to sic German Shepherds on you.
So, once the I.V. is in and the sedative administered you’re pretty much fucked. Your fate is out of your hands, and that part is really disconcerting.
So. now I’m laying in the mobile half bed staring at the ceiling lights, trying to not listen to all the other helpless people on the other sides of my curtain. While I was gazing at the lights, I was wondering how many people had died in the half bed I was currently occupying. I also wondered who had worn the gown before me, and if the hospital had managed to launder out all the liquids that people tend to leave behind when they’re wearing one of those fuckers.
After a while, the anesthetist came in and asked me questions about drugs and alcohol use. I thoroughly enjoyed sharing those answers with the rest of the curtain people, but hey hospital rules right? No sense expecting privacy in a place where accidentally seeing someone’s nuts is as regular as green jello.
And then I was ready to go. I had my I.V. in and my little hat on and was wheeled into surgery. The transfer from the wheely bed to the slicing bed was interesting. After completing the changeover, the wheely bed was wheeled away and got entangled with my I.V. line. Fortunately I was able to alert them to the entanglement before it was ripped out of my hand.
So, that was a good thing.
As the surgeon and the rest of his squad prepared to slice into me, I stared at the ceiling and wondered how many people had died in this room. I don’t remember one fucking thing after that.
Until I woke up in another room. I had another privacy curtain and the thought struck me that these curtains are like 4000 Kleenex tissues glued together. Not much privacy, but you could blow your nose or wipe your ass with them for fucking days.
As luck would have it, the bed next to me was occupied by a street person. We’ll call him Vern. It’s easier to type than homeless guy. Vern kept complaining that he needed to go the the bathroom. The nurses kept reminding Vern that he was hooked up and he could just let it go. I laid there and wondered how you catheter someones asshole. I get the dick part, but I was wondering if they used a fire hose for his ass, and how the hell they hook that up so there’s a tight seal.
As I was musing over fire hoses a nurse came in to check on me. She expressed some surprise that I was already awake. She then asked me how I was feeling. I replied that I was fine and asked for my clothes so I could leave. She smiled at me like I was a fucking idiot, and informed me that I had a few hoops to jump through before I could be released. Eat something, drink something, piss, walk and then solve a Rubik’s cube.
Just kidding about the cube.
I was brought food and water. The food was digestive crackers, green jello and consomme in a plastic sorta Tupperware bowl. I declined the jello. I never eat jello. I also declined the soup. It smelled terrible. I’m not sure if it was the soup or the container it was in, but like I said, it smelled terrible.
The nurse was unhappy. I noticed that the nurse was unhappy, and to demonstrate she was unhappy, she fucked off and didn’t come back for what seemed like an hour. It was probably only twenty minutes or so but during her absence a squad of nurses came in to do some shit with Vern.
Through the privacy curtain I was able to hear that Vern hadn’t rolled over for a while and he had oozing sores they wanted to look at and air out. I also learned that the hospital has a swing that they use to hoist people around that have fallen and can’t get up. Vern hated the swing thing.
When the nurse finally came back she informed me that I was going to need to demonstrate my ability to walk. I agreed and got out of the wheely bed immediately. She seemed a little surprised that I was on my feet that quickly but she shrugged and started to walk away. I had to ask her for something to cover my ass. Right, she replied and I was supplied a housecoat. As I was walking I was mulling over my escape. I wondered if they intentionally don’t give you a robe unless you ask for one. Maybe it’s a test, and if you’re willing to walk around with your ass exposed then you’re probably not ready to be released to the world. After strolling around a bit, I headed back to my room because I had to piss and I felt as if my escape was imminent. As I neared my room I was passed by a couple of dudes suited up in hospital hazmat. Turns out that Vern had somehow shit the bed so it wasn’t a great time to piss in a measuring container, so I had to hold it.
The clean up was really efficient. They had the bedding gone in a jiffy and I didn’t even catch a whiff of poop in the air. So, I went into the bathroom with my flask and tried not to make eye contact with Vern. Piss bottle in hand I returned to my bed and waited for the nurse to come back and tell me I was good to leave. By the way, piss bottles are surprisingly warm when the urine is fresh. Anyway, imagine my disappointment when I was informed that I needed to fill the bottle to a higher volume that I’d managed. I told the nurse that it was the best I could do and I was leaving. Nurse replied that she wouldn’t allow me to leave and she could lose her nursing license if I fucked off.
So, now I had a dilemma. I couldn’t see much point in telling the nurse that I thought her license loss story was bullshit. It would probably piss her off, and I was pretty sure that antagonizing the staff wasn’t going to speed my release. I also was unsure if they had the right and the ability to hold me against my will. I concluded that getting really aggressive probably wasn’t going to help my cause, because they could say I was still under the influence of whatever drugs they administered and aggression implies impairment. I assumed that impairment means you aren’t eligible for hospital parole. So, I acquired another jug of water and tried to fill the fucking bottle to the appropriate millimeter line. I was unsuccessful, and so I went to the nursing station and told them I needed to leave. Turns out that all you have to do is sign a paper that you refused medical advice, and voila, you’re on your way.
I think they were happy to be rid of me.
Then I had to sit on my ass for four weeks and heal internally. No golf, no boat if it was wavy and no physical exertion that required lifting. I did however reach the piss level a couple of days later because I felt well enough to drink some beers with a friend. Happy to report that all my internal lines worked just fine.
This summer surgery sacrifice now means we can travel this winter without worry that I’m going to have a gallbladder attack on a Florida golf course. An attack that means we’d have to sell our house to pay because the condition was pre-existing.
So, we’re good to go, even though I think we’re going to Europe and not the U.S. Not sure what happens if you get sick in Spain with a pre-existing condition but it’s a moot point because that dull throbbing pain that afflicted me for a couple of months disappeared with my gallbladder.
So, it’s a happy ending and I’d like to thank all those involved for the success of this procedure.
Except Vern. Vern wasn’t helpful.