Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Knee Repalcement, Part 2

I arrived in SF on 1st July to spend a few days with my brother who will put me up during my recovery. But since he and his wife both work every day, I rented a car and a hotel room and took myself to Palo Alto for my surgery. I had a preliminary appointment with my surgeon and another with anesthesiologists and still another with my personal physician who cleared me for my surgery.
On the night before surgery, I did not sleep well despite the elegant hotel room in Palo Alto. Woke about 5 and being NPO, no eating or drinking, I read and paced until 6, then showered again with the special soap. Completely germ free for at least 30 seconds. Began to see all surfaces as crawling with bugs! Paid my bill and exited just as my cab arrived.
As I strolled into the main entrance of the Stanford Hospital, I had the strange sensation of not really being there. I walked comfortably, no pain, no problems. What am I doing here? I don’t need this! This is for OLD PEOPLE! But I moved obediently toward the check-in desk where I had been only a few days before. Smart to get you oriented in advance. I was checked in and tagged (both wrists this time) and led, still obediently, to the surgery prep. I undressed and donned the famous backless gown. They’re bigger and more complicated now. And then was settled into a corner to wait to be prepared for surgery.
At least 3 nurses attended me: one added two bright red allergy tags to my wrist décor and the others asked me the same 10 questions I had answered for the last 10 days. A pretty child doctor from anesthesiology came with questions about previous surgeries. Another pretty one came in as the lead of the “catheter team”. Catheter team? It takes a team? God. It seems they will install a catheter in the femoral nerve bundle that numbs the whole leg from upper thigh to mid calf. More team mates arrived pushing an ultrasound machine which was used to locate the appropriate nerve. In a bunch they install the catheter without even a stick. Go team! In 10 or 15 minutes it feels as if someone has left a large dog in my lap. My leg has departed me.
More visitors: my doctor signed my leg; anesthesia angel again; vampire brigade (lab techs seeking blood); porters to take my goods away to my future room.
Finally, around 11.30am (original time was 10.15) I am laid flat and rolled into the OR. It is seriously cold!! Seems the surgeons must wear a lot of protective gear (they look like the boy in the bubble of TV fame) so they like it cold. It’s ultra bright. The room is crammed with shelves of tools. It looks like a clean bright hardware store. I avoid looking at the scary stuff. There’s a traffic jam of people: several nurses, three or more greened up doctors, orderlies. I am shifted like luggage to the table and set upon. Egg crate foam under the other leg, arm supports, more wires, another stick, wrap this, cover that, and then a mask and orders to “breathe deeply, it’s only oxygen.” I am bid sweet dreams, arms wide, eyes clenched, shaky and cold.

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