operating operationally

I've heard a complaint that my story is too long, so my previous entry is the executive summary; and I lived happily ever after, the end.

For anyone else still reading: it takes a long time to type this in one handed, I hope you read it slowly... I'm still woozy in a woozened sort of way, so let's see how this goes.

Allow me to doff my hat to the very competent staff at the NorthWest Regional hospital in Framingham. I have never met a nicer group of people or felt more cared for. With the exception of nurse Ratchet (not her real name), these people exude confidence. I m grateful for their care.

I arrived in the Day Surgery waiting room dressed in my sweats. I was only there a few minutes before being ushered into surgery prep. I was instructed to remove all of my clothing and put on a 'johnny'. I looked the nurse in the eye and pointed out that I was wearing sweats, so surely they would prefer me to keep them on to keep me warm. She explained an emergency procedure that would require access to a thigh, so they require all clothing to be removed when using anesthesia, except for socks. So much for my Jedi mind-trick powers.

My johnny would have been a perfect fit if I was 9 years old. On my 6' 2" frame it was a mini skirt. And of course with only one hand I couldn't tie it in the back, so it was a bit breezy. I doubt anyone would admit to designing the johnny, it is a monument to utility and bad taste. You can bet it was designed by a man. The nurse came in and tied it for me. I hope that these good nurses get Danger Pay for having to see the backsides of middle aged men on their way to surgery; that and free trauma counselling.

They put an IV in , and soon someone came over and shot some Versed into it. Why the Versed? To take the edge off. What edge? You know, The Edge. Let's pretend I have no idea what you are talking about, what edge? All good questions, and she wandered off.

So now there is Versed, antibiotics, and standard saline dripping into me and things are getting just a little surreal. I meet a nurse who has heard about the 'ski guy' and asks me for details of my accident; turns out she is also in a 'mixed marriage', although in her case she skis and her husband doesn't. A woman that looks like she could use some sleep sits down next to me and announces she is my anesthetist;
'I assume someone has talked to you about what we do?'
'No, no one has.'
'We put you to sleep.'
She looks at me expectantly, then gets up and wanders off. I'm not sure that went so well.

Dr Jurist comes by to say hello, and I'm glad he does! He's alert, jovial, and the right guy for the job. He marks my left arm with a pen. I pointed out that if he gets in there and doesn't remember which arm, do the one with two casts and 400 yards of Ace bandages. He thanks me for this insight. I also told him that I've been thinking about my x-rays, and it occurs to me that putting big screws into the bone is not the best way to fix this type of thing.

'Really?' he asked, 'do you have a better way?'
'Zip ties,' I respond. 'Put the plate in and zip it down.'

He's kinda taken back by this, his mouth is working like he's going to rebut the idea, but then he shakes his head. 'Medical grade zip ties, what a great idea!'

Next, a jovial fellow sits by me and announces he is my anesthetist. I told him I've already talked to an anesthetist, and she said she was going to put me to sleep. He seems surprised by this and asks if I remember her name. Nope. So, what's on the menu today? Protopol; it replaced Pentathol 10 years ago. Gas? No, strictly through the IV, although there is an oxygen mask.

We are good to go, so a nurse wheels me in to the OR. On the way we stop at a cupboard and hot blankets are put on top of me, they feel glorious. It must be 15 degrees colder in the OR.

When we arrive inside I see Dr Jurist poring over a trail map for Alta. Kinda scary that I've skied there enough to recognize it by trails alone. I told the doc to come over with a pen and I'll tell him where my favorite runs are; he's got to hike up to The Apron, you can almost always find powder there, if you don't have an aneurysm hiking up in the thin air of 10,500'.

'So doc,' I begin, 'I've figured you orthos out. You re' just itching to put a cast on me, 'cause that's how you mark your territory.
He smiles wickedly and replies, 'Not me. I'm signing your body with a metal plate and a scar.'
Oo, good point!

I asked the doc what kind of metal he's going to put in me. Titanium, why? A friend's father is a doctor and has been campaigning against stainless steel because it corrodes in the body. He responds that could be true in a socket or something, but not in a simple structure plate.

'Let me level with you,' I say.
'What?'
'Adimantium. I want adimantium.'
'Hmm, and why is that?' He's humoring me.
'I want retractable claws like Wolverine,' I say with a straight face.
'I'll see what we can do.'

The anesthetist walks over and puts something in my IV. 'See you later, Steve.' I wait a few seconds and I'm still awake, so I say 'I'm still here, you guys need my help with anything?' The anesthetist puts a little more in the IV and says 'nighty night, Steve'. I wait a couple more seconds and say 'I think you'll have to carry on without me'.

Next thing I know someone is shaking my gently, telling me to wake up. My hand feels different, I can move my fingers without pain. And it doesn't feel so heavy, I must have a different cast. A nurse tells me to wiggle my fingers and toes, it will help me wake up. I comply.

The doc comes by and tells me things went really well, he is very pleased. Everything fit together perfectly and tightly, it is the best possible outcome! He'll call and speak to my wife.

A nurse comes by and asks how I'm doing, and I reply I'm fine. She comes by a couple more times and we have the same exchange. Then she asks how my wrist is doing and I tell her it really hurts, but I'm OK. She rolls her eyes and asks why men need everything spelled out all the time. I'm not sure what she is talking about. Someone gives me a pill and says it is Percadan, for the pain.

I'm wheeled out of recovery into post-op. The nurse wheeling me says 'check this out!' and shows me a long scar on her wrist. 'You had the same operation? I ask. She nods her head. 'Cool! We could start a club or a user group.'

Thus far, everyone I have met has been wonderful. But now they deposit me with Nurse Cratchet, and it isn't so nice. She moves me into bed roughly, then yanks one of the fingers on my broken hand and places a heart rate monitor on it such that it pinches. This really hurts. She comes at me with a cuff for blood pressure and I ask her to please put it on the arm that isn't bandaged, she rolls her eyes but does it. She asks if I want Coke or Sprite; neither, just some water please. No, she doesn't do water because people throw it up. And she sits down across the room. My throat is extremely parched.

Fortunately, it is the end of the shift for Cratchet and she leaves. Her replacement is nurse Linda, a self labelled eXtreme Talker. Linda is an angel and takes good care of me.
We talk about all kinds of things, although with the chemicals running through me I don't think I'm keeping up. Diane picks me up at 8:00 and we head home.