I Saw The Light
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When last we spoke I was headed into out-patient surgery for a cataract removal. Anyone who knows me at all is aware that I am extremely flexible on the subject of rules. It's not so much that I break them, but my general philosophy of life rotates around the premise that forgiveness is easier to obtain than permission.
If you have ever had surgery outside a doctor's office (removal of plantar's warts doesn't really count, though when I had one taken off at age 16, you would have thought I had been gutted like a bass) knows that if they are playing with ether, ketalar, diprivan, or pentathol etc. there are many rules surrounding their use and the patient's preparation for their use. For instance, the morning I went in I was only allowed clear liquids to eat. What constitutes a clear liquid? Water is the only substance that comes to mind as truly clear. 7-Up may be close, but what do all those carbonated bubbles do when mixed with propofol? That's the drug that got Michael Jackson in case you were unaware. For that reason I am always suspicious if propofol becomes part of the conversation.
And in fact I bagged a scheduled colonoscopy because propofol was the drug of choice of that particular doctor. Between my terror of that particular drug and the three days of hell I would have to endure I decided I'd roll the dice on that one. (Now before you get worried about my health, I did hedge my bets and took the DNA sample test instead - other than the ick factor, it is an excellent alternative and not nearly so much in the way of inconvenience and side affects. But I digress, back to this week in surgery.
General anesthesia dictates surgical dietary rules, There has always been a romantic myth tied to doctors which is blown completely if the patient is barfing on their shoes. In any event, I decided not to break the clear liquids rule and had tea. The surgery was described to me as a 12 minute procedure, I could deal with a late breakfast.
Of course they don't let you drive yourself, something about being high on whatever it is they give you for pain, relaxation or whatever. I had to round up a driver. Fortunately I have a good friend who is self employed who had a light schedule that day who brought me to the chop shop where I broke a cardinal rule; once I had introduced her to reception I told her to go home and do what she normally does, I'd be fine.
That created a bit of a fuss. Apparently, the rules are that the driver has to remain with you so they can see and note who that person is. Do you suppose there are random people who hang around out patient surgery centers, ready to drive off and victimize drugged patients? If I was a betting woman I'd bet against it, but what do I know? Nothing about the medical profession, that's for sure. In any case, my driver was gone. While reception was in a dither figuring out what to do about this irregular turn of events, I saw my doctor.
I've always believed the best way to solve a problem is to go straight to the top. If you can get to the right person you can score. Gift cards. discounts, free meals or solutions to problems can be attained without all the red tape if you can find the person at the top of the pyramid. (Though I will say, it is getting harder and harder. Google the Board of Directors for Comcast. They are well hidden, and for good reason. But I guarantee, Chairman So and So, doesn't want his desk or voice mail littered with your complaint.) But there was my doctor in the flesh, dispensing eye drops to all the cataract patients lined up for surgery like 747's on the runway, so I asked him. Is it okay that I sent my driver home? He didn't care. The top had spoken.
Eventually, the growling in my stomach got everyone's attention and I was led off to surgery. More waiting ensued until the IV was attached into my favorite spot for needles, the back of my hand. Show of bruised hands please, how many of you have had blood drawn or IV's in the vein on the back of your hand? Hurts like a son of a bitch is the phrase that comes to mind - though my nurse thoughtfully injected the area with a local anesthetic which also hurt, enough that it took my mind off the insertion of the IV.
It had been my impression that I was going to get one of those twilight drugs, the kind that makes you susceptible to suggestion, but you wake up forgetting anything happened. A couple of nurses came in and began the IV. The doctor appeared, "Your turn."
"Wait," I said. "I'm not comatose yet."
"Oh, no, honey," a nurses half my age said, "We want you wide awake for this."
"But what about all the good drugs?" I was getting panicky by this time.
"No good drugs, what you are getting doesn't put you out. You just won't care what happens."
Like hell.
I was wheeled into the operating room where the doctor loomed above me. "Your job consists of three things." he said.
Great, not only was I not getting the good drugs, now I had responsibilities.
He continued, " One, I want you to keep your eyes wide open. Two, if you need to sneeze or cough say. STOP! "Three, stare directly into the light."
Stare into the light? What? I was going to see the light? That light? Am I going away?(By then the whatever drug it was had begun to take effect.)
And sure enough, there was a light, a super nova of light. It was bright white, then yellow and blue. There were stars and swirls. A couple of times it looked like I was watching it through water. It was quite the show. Within a few minutes I was wheeled back to a surgical waiting area.
"Would you like juice and graham crackers?" Damn straight. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, I was hungry.
"We'll get your driver and you can go home." It's probably good I had a driver. I only had the use of one eye by this time, The one I couldn't use at the moment felt like someone had shoved their thumb into it.
I went home and took a long nap. The good news is that two days later my eye feels almost normal. My vision is still blurry, but I'm told that is to be expected. It's okay, that was my bad eye anyway. Actually, I can see distance out of it pretty well, But it's no good for reading. But that was the trade off wasn't it? They can't give you both. But they can give you new glasses. In two weeks I get to go back and do it all over again. They better not mess up my good eye.
Of course they don't let you drive yourself, something about being high on whatever it is they give you for pain, relaxation or whatever. I had to round up a driver. Fortunately I have a good friend who is self employed who had a light schedule that day who brought me to the chop shop where I broke a cardinal rule; once I had introduced her to reception I told her to go home and do what she normally does, I'd be fine.
That created a bit of a fuss. Apparently, the rules are that the driver has to remain with you so they can see and note who that person is. Do you suppose there are random people who hang around out patient surgery centers, ready to drive off and victimize drugged patients? If I was a betting woman I'd bet against it, but what do I know? Nothing about the medical profession, that's for sure. In any case, my driver was gone. While reception was in a dither figuring out what to do about this irregular turn of events, I saw my doctor.
I've always believed the best way to solve a problem is to go straight to the top. If you can get to the right person you can score. Gift cards. discounts, free meals or solutions to problems can be attained without all the red tape if you can find the person at the top of the pyramid. (Though I will say, it is getting harder and harder. Google the Board of Directors for Comcast. They are well hidden, and for good reason. But I guarantee, Chairman So and So, doesn't want his desk or voice mail littered with your complaint.) But there was my doctor in the flesh, dispensing eye drops to all the cataract patients lined up for surgery like 747's on the runway, so I asked him. Is it okay that I sent my driver home? He didn't care. The top had spoken.
Eventually, the growling in my stomach got everyone's attention and I was led off to surgery. More waiting ensued until the IV was attached into my favorite spot for needles, the back of my hand. Show of bruised hands please, how many of you have had blood drawn or IV's in the vein on the back of your hand? Hurts like a son of a bitch is the phrase that comes to mind - though my nurse thoughtfully injected the area with a local anesthetic which also hurt, enough that it took my mind off the insertion of the IV.
It had been my impression that I was going to get one of those twilight drugs, the kind that makes you susceptible to suggestion, but you wake up forgetting anything happened. A couple of nurses came in and began the IV. The doctor appeared, "Your turn."
"Wait," I said. "I'm not comatose yet."
"Oh, no, honey," a nurses half my age said, "We want you wide awake for this."
"But what about all the good drugs?" I was getting panicky by this time.
"No good drugs, what you are getting doesn't put you out. You just won't care what happens."
Like hell.
I was wheeled into the operating room where the doctor loomed above me. "Your job consists of three things." he said.
Great, not only was I not getting the good drugs, now I had responsibilities.
He continued, " One, I want you to keep your eyes wide open. Two, if you need to sneeze or cough say. STOP! "Three, stare directly into the light."
Stare into the light? What? I was going to see the light? That light? Am I going away?(By then the whatever drug it was had begun to take effect.)
And sure enough, there was a light, a super nova of light. It was bright white, then yellow and blue. There were stars and swirls. A couple of times it looked like I was watching it through water. It was quite the show. Within a few minutes I was wheeled back to a surgical waiting area.
"Would you like juice and graham crackers?" Damn straight. It was two o'clock in the afternoon, I was hungry.
"We'll get your driver and you can go home." It's probably good I had a driver. I only had the use of one eye by this time, The one I couldn't use at the moment felt like someone had shoved their thumb into it.
I went home and took a long nap. The good news is that two days later my eye feels almost normal. My vision is still blurry, but I'm told that is to be expected. It's okay, that was my bad eye anyway. Actually, I can see distance out of it pretty well, But it's no good for reading. But that was the trade off wasn't it? They can't give you both. But they can give you new glasses. In two weeks I get to go back and do it all over again. They better not mess up my good eye.
wow Casey...Yikes!!!
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