After enduring many years of pain, I decided it was time to have my football injury (cheerleading) repaired.
I visited the orthopedic surgeon, and he agreed it was time to schedule the operation. This is not something you just have done on a whim. There are several procedures that are required before you enter the hospital.
No. 1 : Give two pints of your own blood. Have you given any blood recently⢠Let me tell you, the questions they ask are truly out-of-sight. Example: Have you paid to have sex with anyone from Third World countries⢠Since I have forgotten the names of the Third World countries, my answer was, "No." Next question: Has anyone paid you to have sex from these countries⢠I asked the technician to please repeat the question. She did, and I told her if I had to wait until someone paid me for sex, I would be starving, big time.
Those pints of blood must be given one week apart, so on the second visit, I was all prepared for the quiz. After you give your precious blood, you must sit and wait for about 15 minutes just to be sure you have recovered from your ordeal. As I was leaving, the receptionist said to me, "If you smoke, wait about two hours." No problem, since I have never smoked. I then turned to her as I was putting on my jacket, "How about sex?" She looked bewildered and just smiled as I opened the door. After all, if not cigarettes, how long must you wait to have sex?
No. 2 : Go to the hospital and get all those tests before your operation. No problem -- chest X-ray, electrocardiogram, blood test and, of course, put something in the paper cup.
No. 3 : The big day had arrived, and I was ready to go. I changed into the lovely designer gown and crawled into the bed with the rubber sheets. The girls in the white coats came to wheel me away, as my family said goodbye. As I arrived in the holding room, the anesthetist proclaimed, "Just a little pinch." I have had enough little pinches in the last two weeks to last me a lifetime. It was my choice to have a "spinal," because I wanted to be able to direct the two surgeons, just in case they needed me to remind them "which knee." If they would have permitted it, I would have wanted to watch from the overhead mirrors. Drs. Cut-up and Cut-less consented to the spinal, and no more.
I could hear the two surgeons talking back and forth, but that was all. Then I heard Dr. Cut-up proclaim, "I need the circular saw."
I thought he was just doing that for my benefit. Wrong. The next sound I heard was the buzzing of that saw and the pounding of the hammer and chisel. I spoke in my most commanding voice, "WHAT THE HE__ ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?" Even though I had an oxygen mask on my mouth and a barrier above my head, my voice was heard by all.
Dr. Cut-up said to the anesthetist, "Put her out." My answer to him was, "DON'T YOU DARE." He relented, so I was able to listen to the finale. When the surgeon went to meet with the family, they told them I was one of, if not the most, difficult patients he had ever had. Look for me to be written up someday in the Journal of American Medicine.
I really was in no pain because of the drugs I was given -- morphine, Darvocet, Percocet. I was flying high without the benefit of angel wings.
I had this operation about 3 p.m., and I was wheeled into physical therapy that evening. I no longer feel that "PT" is short for physical therapist, but "Physical Terrorist." These folks must take "mean" pills with their morning brew. One in particular, Kim, was the Nurse Cratchet of the PT room. Their main objective was to get my heel to meet my butt. I told her my heel hadn't seen my butt in 50 years, so why try now⢠All this fell on deaf ears. This went on twice a day, every day, for 14 days. Where is God when you need him⢠I couldn't wait to come home.
The hospital made arrangements for another "PT" to visit me at home three times a week. Oh, happy day, maybe this Terrorist would be a little kinder to me than those at the hospital. Wishful thinking. Enter Michael, who arrives every other day to put me through pure he__. He doesn't understand English at all.
"It hurts, no more, I can't, that's all, ouch," are not in his vocabulary. I mention to him I have a birthday coming and I'm not on Medicare yet, and at the rate he was going, I would never see either of those events. When he leaves, I won't say thank you. Thanks for what -- the torture⢠I gave him a plate of cookies in hopes of bribing him, but it didn't work. He still makes me do all the exercises 20 times and hold for the count of five. Again I ask you, where is God when you need him?
The pain is getting less each day. And when I do leave this world, my epitaph will read: THE DOLL, DONE IN BY JUST A LITTLE PINCH
Doll Well is a freelance writer from Ohio Township.
