Well, I’m baaack! It’s Tuesday evening. I had the uterine procedure thing done yesterday, which I’m calling my “special day,” as I pretty much spent the whole afternoon and evening sleeping and resting. Of course, I spent most of today catching up, albeit with no lifting, or exercise. After all, I am recovering, you know.
The nurse called me at the end of today to see how I was doing. I allowed that I was cramping a little but otherwise “okay.” She said, “Just remember, no vacuuming or dishes for six weeks!” Man, it’s worth a try. I really haven’t talked to my husband about it – he’s been too busy on the home front (yesterday) and making up missed hours at work (today). Now he is asleep in his recliner, although I need to wake him to remind him to do the dinner dishes.
Yesterday, about noon, the milk was delivered. I almost had to give my husband written instructions as to how to get it from the front stoop into the fridge. Not really, but I was expecting a frozen bottled milk explosion by 10 PM when he finally remembered to bring it in: Four half gallons, or twice the weight I was allowed to lift.
So all in all, the day surgery experience yesterday was, well, better than I expected. First of all, I had crammed hours of reading into my bag, prepared for a long wait. I was told to check in at 9:30 AM for the surgery, which was scheduled for 11:30 – if Dr. Gross (my pet name for him. He’s nice enough, and I could change it, but what the heck) was not delayed. I was told that the procedure (D&C and hysteroscopy) should take about half an hour, and allowing for flexibility along with recovery time, I should be ready to go home by 2:30-3:00 PM. That’s what I told my husband when we parted at the nurses’ station in day surgery just before 9:30 AM.
The next thing, I was sitting at the admittance desk, facing the clerk, calling out “yes … yes … yes,” as she read off my personal information from the computer screen , the whole thing ringing in the air like some off-beat demented rap song.
Within 10 minutes I was sent down the hall clutching my paperwork and plastic ID wrist band. A nurse stopped me. “Are you Josephine?” she asked, and as I nodded she hustled me onto to a seat and slapped a blood pressure sleeve over my arm. My blood pressure measured thirty points higher than it ever had in my life. But she was wearing one of those lab coats, and registered it as “normal.” I was up again and urged onto a free-standing scale. “The doctor is ready for you, NOW!” She exclaimed. “So we have to go as fast as we can.” She weighed and measured me fully dressed, glanced at my shoes and declared, “5’4″ height.” (I’ve apparently grown a full inch.)
I was then escorted down the hall into a curtain-lined cubicle to suit up in my backless “prada” gown (that’s what the nurse called it, they were all quite fun). And the big thing was to get the blood drawn ASAP, and over to the lab to be tested and ‘okay-ed’ for the surgery. But first! … to the bathroom for the urine sample, which, at this point, in my backless gown, stripped of everything except my socks, (including my glasses and all jewelry, which, I wasn’t sure where I had shoved my wedding rings) … pee-ing became difficult. I had saved my pee, had been holding my pee, but darn it, I just couldn’t pee. If only I could … relax … Ahhh … imagine a bubbling river streaming through the bathroom faucet; it’s gushing over the sides of the sink now, splashing violently, flooding the bathroom floor … Ahhhh … there we go! Tinkle, tinkle … Okay, just a wee bit …
Then, “Quick!” exclaimed the nurse with the needle as I emerged from the bathroom. She nudged me toward the bed: “Get settled now so we can draw blood and hook you up to the IV!.” Then she nailed a vein beautifully on the top of my hand, but it just wouldn’t release blood into her vial. “Ohhhhh, come on!” she coaxed my vein. “Hold still, Josephine!” she urged me. I told her I went by “Jody.”
All the nurses were in a huge rush to get me prepped and on down the line, declaring, “The doctor is ready NOW!” Asking at each turn, “Are you Josephine?” Confirming my birth date.
Well, I have to say, I met at least 5 nurses and two anesthesiologists before the surgery, but I never saw Dr. Gross, not before, during, or after the surgery. I was suited up, IV dripping away into my arm, waiting in my pre-surgery holding cubicle when my lab report arrived. I believe this to be about 10:30 AM. The very next moment the anesthesiologist is there with his needle, explaining, “I am putting something in your IV to relax you while we wheel you to surgery.” Sounded good to me! So he did. We started out, he and the nurse wheeled me down the hall through some doors, turned right, then left, surgery area ahead, and I said cheerfully, “Sure looks busy!” as I spotted a swarm of blurry moving figures in blue lab coats …
That was it. I was now awake talking with the post-op nurse, it was a little after noon, maybe. I was wheeled to another area to prepare to go home. Which, I was told, I was free to do after I pee-ed. Great. Well, I was a tad more relaxed this time. No problem. My stuff had followed me to my recovery room and I dressed and called my husband. He met me at the front of the hospital at 1PM.
Oh, and I took a whole Percocet tablet before I left the hospital. The nurse had offered something for pain and I said, “Yes.” Which explains why I was pretty much worthless the rest of the day, which really made it special.
Tags: post menopause
The Decompression of a Boomer 
February 12, 2009 at 8:01 pm |
Oh Jody, that was absolutely hysterical. I’m glad the procedure went well. Only you could turn a uterus into comedy. It provided me a much needed laugh.
February 14, 2009 at 5:03 pm |
Very Funny! Great story! I hope at the end of your 6 week no cleaning law, your husband doesn’t end up at ‘Doctor Pains’ office!
Twitch
February 14, 2009 at 5:37 pm |
Yeah, at the Doctor’s office dealing with his “Pain”.