I'm moving down a corridor and someone is asking me if I want something
to drink. I don't remember answering, but apparently when I'm not in my
right mind, I still know I love Diet Dr. Pepper.
...everything's so fuzzy...I know I don't have the chronology right here...
The nurse helps me into the chair in the recovery room and asks me how
I'm feeling. "A little nauseated." My Diet Dr. Pepper arrives, complete
with bendy straw. I try to focus on the nurse's nametag, but it's half
hidden behind her lapel. Wait. Do scrubs have lapels? Anyway, nurse
Susan --Susie? Suzanne? I can't remember -- asks me what I want to eat.
"We have all kinds of things. Do you want peanut butter crackers? I
think we have Cheez-its..."
"Cheez-its!" I don't even let her finish. Cheez-its are delicious in any
mental state. Somewhere in here she stands me up and takes my blood
pressure. I only remember it was low and we kind of both looked at it
and laughed.
I'm sitting back down again and Nurse Su--- is talking. A LOT.
Definitely an SP personality type. Nurse S. gets me settled and brings
the Silver Fox back. I'm enjoying my snack -- very slowly, the Silver
Fox tells me later. He says I was grinning like a mule eating briars
(actually, his verbiage was more colorful) and chewing in slow
motion.
At some point my doctor passes by and makes a comment but I think I was focused too much on the Cheez-its to form a response.
Over the next several minutes, Nurse S. sits with me, talks to me, and
periodically stands me up and takes my blood pressure. "Still
nauseated?" "No." She and the Silver Fox are having a full-on dinner
party conversation, about how long she's been nursing and where and who
did the Silver Fox's neck surgery and where, and what the Silver Fox
does for a living, and I'm participating by listening.
My surgeon passes through again and says, "She's awake!"
Eventually I go through enough of the
stand-up-take-the-blood-pressure-sit-back-down process to pass the test,
and Nurse S. brings me my discharge papers: A pain diary, in which I am
to document once an hour until bedtime, and then 3 times a day for the
next week; a schedule of when I can return to taking my current meds;
and the list of dos and don'ts.
She leaves to get a wheelchair, the Silver Fox leaves to get the car,
and I am left behind the curtain to change. I'm wheeled to the car and
we say our goodbyes. It's about 11:30 a.m.
Meanwhile, I'm so hungry I could eat a sow and ten pigs. I'd hoped I'd
feel like going somewhere to eat, (I was actually craving Awful --I mean
Waffle-- House) but it's looking like hitting a drive-through and going
straight home to bed is going to be the best option. We've gone about
10 minutes down the road before I decide I want to look at my discharge
instructions.
"Hey, hon, what did you do with my papers?"
"I gave them to you."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I looked at them and gave them back to you."
"Well, why did you do that?"
Yes, friends, I left the papers in the chair under my gown. We turn around and head back to the surgery center.
...To Be Continued...
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friday, August 3, 2012
Why I love the Campbell Clinic, Part One
After years and years of horrid posture and ignoring pain; weakness, numbness, and muscle imbalances on my left side; a recent round of Physical Therapy; and a few MRIs, I've been diagnosed with degenerative disc disease in two discs in my neck. It turns out we all have it to some degree, but some of us are symptomatic and some are not.
A few weeks ago my orthopedist gave me a couple of treatment options and I chose the more agressive: An epidural steroid injection. A temporary solution, but will hopefully give me enough symptom relief to rehab properly and get the herniated disc healed up a little.
Today was my procedure, which was performed at Campbell Surgery Center. This facility and these people were truly amazing. Here's a recap. There may be TMI, but I don't care.
7:30: Arrive early at surgery center. Complete forms, pay copay.
8:15: Called back; check in by nurse Nancy. provide urine specimen and 2 vials of blood. BP 98/60. Return to waiting room to wait for lab results. (I assume pregnancy and platelet function). Am seated directly across from a kitchenette with fresh hot coffee and fully stocked, shiny vending machines. I, of course, have been NPO since midnight. They are wrong for that.
8:45: Called back, tests passed, change into gown and get a warm blanket. (My favorite part), IV started by nurse Holly, answer second battery of questions, ID band check #2. BP still in the same range. Silver Fox retrieved by nurse Holly. We sit and make fun of each other for having trouble staying awake.
9:15 or so: Physician check, meets Silver Fox, 3rd set of questions answered, tells me I'm on deck. I really like my doctor.
About 10 minutes later: Rad tech arrives in lead apron and thyroid guard. I forget her name. Sweet and about 12 years old. LOL. 3rd wristband check. I'm instructed to remove earrings and necklace.
"And wristwatch? Glasses?" I ask.
"No, just what's near your neck."
"Oh, okay. (embarrassment)"
"They're pretty, though."
That's right, little fluoroscopy lady, appeal to my vanity. Hee hee hee. Silver Fox is sent back to waiting room with my handbag and bag o' effects.
Down the hall I go into the surgery room. I turn in my eyeglasses and put on the surgery hat. As I'm being helped face down onto the table, the doctor enters rubbing his hands...
"Welcome to the laBORatory!"
"Thank you," I say. "Am I going to leave with sutures and electrodes?"
He laughs. "Have you met Igor?'
"It's EYE-gore!!"
*Dear readers, my doctor did not catch the Marty Feldman reference, but I forgive him because he's spent his life not watching Young Frankenstein so that he can instead study how not to nick the dura when he STICKS A STINKIN' NEEDLE INTO MY SPINE.*
I'm lying face down on an operating table with my face in a hole and I'm wondering when they're gonna put that mask I see down there up to my face. The nurse anesthetist lady is messing with my IV arm. The rad lady puts a roll under my ankles. These people have this down to an art. Rad lady goes to her place in the corner. Doctor preps my neck and asks me questions about it -- I assume to gauge my lucidity. Then there is a long discussion about upcoming schedule changes for the day. I hear the NA singing. I have no idea what; but anyone who knows me will not be surprised that my knee-jerk reaction was to commence to singing "I hear singing but there's noooo one there!!!"
But I couldn't because that's the last thing I remember thinking.
*Part Two to follow*
A few weeks ago my orthopedist gave me a couple of treatment options and I chose the more agressive: An epidural steroid injection. A temporary solution, but will hopefully give me enough symptom relief to rehab properly and get the herniated disc healed up a little.
Today was my procedure, which was performed at Campbell Surgery Center. This facility and these people were truly amazing. Here's a recap. There may be TMI, but I don't care.
7:30: Arrive early at surgery center. Complete forms, pay copay.
8:15: Called back; check in by nurse Nancy. provide urine specimen and 2 vials of blood. BP 98/60. Return to waiting room to wait for lab results. (I assume pregnancy and platelet function). Am seated directly across from a kitchenette with fresh hot coffee and fully stocked, shiny vending machines. I, of course, have been NPO since midnight. They are wrong for that.
8:45: Called back, tests passed, change into gown and get a warm blanket. (My favorite part), IV started by nurse Holly, answer second battery of questions, ID band check #2. BP still in the same range. Silver Fox retrieved by nurse Holly. We sit and make fun of each other for having trouble staying awake.
9:15 or so: Physician check, meets Silver Fox, 3rd set of questions answered, tells me I'm on deck. I really like my doctor.
About 10 minutes later: Rad tech arrives in lead apron and thyroid guard. I forget her name. Sweet and about 12 years old. LOL. 3rd wristband check. I'm instructed to remove earrings and necklace.
"And wristwatch? Glasses?" I ask.
"No, just what's near your neck."
"Oh, okay. (embarrassment)"
"They're pretty, though."
That's right, little fluoroscopy lady, appeal to my vanity. Hee hee hee. Silver Fox is sent back to waiting room with my handbag and bag o' effects.
Down the hall I go into the surgery room. I turn in my eyeglasses and put on the surgery hat. As I'm being helped face down onto the table, the doctor enters rubbing his hands...
"Welcome to the laBORatory!"
"Thank you," I say. "Am I going to leave with sutures and electrodes?"
He laughs. "Have you met Igor?'
"It's EYE-gore!!"
*Dear readers, my doctor did not catch the Marty Feldman reference, but I forgive him because he's spent his life not watching Young Frankenstein so that he can instead study how not to nick the dura when he STICKS A STINKIN' NEEDLE INTO MY SPINE.*
I'm lying face down on an operating table with my face in a hole and I'm wondering when they're gonna put that mask I see down there up to my face. The nurse anesthetist lady is messing with my IV arm. The rad lady puts a roll under my ankles. These people have this down to an art. Rad lady goes to her place in the corner. Doctor preps my neck and asks me questions about it -- I assume to gauge my lucidity. Then there is a long discussion about upcoming schedule changes for the day. I hear the NA singing. I have no idea what; but anyone who knows me will not be surprised that my knee-jerk reaction was to commence to singing "I hear singing but there's noooo one there!!!"
But I couldn't because that's the last thing I remember thinking.
*Part Two to follow*
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