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Tuesday, August 09, 2005
I feel like death warmed over...
Well, it's now been a little over 24 hours since I allowed my anatomy to be changed forever. No, I didn't become a girl, get a piercing, or chop off an appendage. I did however, have my tonsils removed.
They say that when you get your tonsils out as a kid, that it's no big deal. You simply have them removed and in a few days you're fine. But, as an adult, it's apparently a much bigger deal. I don't know. We're only on day 2, but so far, it seems like quite a big deal.
I went in to St. Joseph's yesterday morning, paid my money (yes, they require payment up front...), signed my life away (does anybody REALLY know what they're signing? Can they really prove tha you DID know what you're signing? To actually read all that stuff would take hours...), and then waited. My blood pressure was a bit high, as honestly, I was a bit nervous.
They make you wear those silly little hospital gowns; they might as well just let you be naked. The amount of "privacy" would be about the same. My favorite part was the socks they had. They have tread on the bottom. So cute. Slippers and socks, all in one!
Finally they put in the IV, and I was supposed to relax. Fat chance... Then, like an opening scene from Six Feet Under (minus the music), I was wheeled down the long hallway into the OR. I'd forgotten that operating rooms are cold. I used to do work in the rooms at Loma Linda from time to time, and they were cold too. I'd just forgotten. So, they were covering me with about 80 blankets. The nice ones were the ones that were pre-warmed!
I woke up awhile later and they wanted me to talk to them. Fat chance. Theses people are crazy. As if I wanna remove my throat, and then start talking to them. They must be outta their minds.
The latest, greatest thing in health care in about the last 5 years is the lovely "pain scale." This has taken the health industry by storm. They always want to know your level of pain, from 1 to 10. They asked me about my level in the recovery room. I didn't know. The scale is so arbitrary. Apparently I chose the right numbers, as I was rewarded with not one, but two doses of morphine. Funny thing is, I swear that it didn't make me feel better.
The nurses in recovery seemed to forget that there were people there besides them. I heard about kids, and personal issues. I heard about preferred feminine products. I learned their disgust at how the nurse in the same day recovery section hadn't arrived, and how silly they thought it was for her not to have to arrive until 10 a.m. anyway.
Now I was awake. So I was finally rolled into the same day recover section. Apparently the missing nurse finally made it in. It's a pity, though, as now the recovery room nurses don't have anyone to gossip about.
I turned on the TV, and my friend Brian was directed to me shortly. Brian has been a real champ, staying with me, hauling me around, and getting my drugs. He's trying to push fluids down my throat (as he's supposed to.) I don't know that I'll ever be able to repay him.
Anyway, I was there and awake for awhile, and then the nurse came and I apparently got the right "number" on the pain scale again, as they gave me a shot of something... It made me tired, and I fell asleep, waking just a few times before they almost literally pushed me out the door. They seemd quite excited about getting rid of me, and didn't want me hanging around, reminding me that I could "sleep at home." Brian went and got his car, and I was wheel-chaired down to the front by this gay volunteer.
So, now I'm home. Kinda miserable, as my throat really hurts. And, weird side effect of things, I think, cuz I always feel like I need to pee, but don't really that much.
I'm tired of sleeping, so am sitting up long enough to write this. I think I'll have some pre-op pictures on the moblog soon.
You're welcome, my little patient. Did you get my bill yet? It's due on receipt! ;-)