Surgery Day: Rock Star!

Thursday, May 23rd, 2019.  D-Day.  The Day of Reckoning.  The day I’ve been anxiously awaiting - and it’s finally here.

We’re up at 4:15 so that I can shower with the prescribed antibacterial soap one last time before making the short trip (less than a mile) to the hospital.  We’re checked in before our assigned time of 5 a.m., and then we wait.  Waiting is not something we were prepared for, so it’s odd, very odd.  Ed faithfully came with me to all of my exploratory and pre-op appointments, and one of the things that most impressed us about this practice was how attentive and respectful everyone was.  Until this morning, we’ve never waited more than a couple of minutes for an appointment.  Today, we watch winter storm warnings on the local news channel (honestly, it’s late May, folks!) until I’m finally called back into pre-op at 7:20.

The prep is orderly and relaxed.  The pre-op nurse Sandy affixes my wrist with a number of bangles:  ID bracelets, “fall risk” bracelets, allergy alerts, and a few others.  No wonder they told me to leave all my jewelry at home - this is enough bling for any one person to handle.

Sandy then has me strip down and swab myself from head to toe with yet more antibacterial scrubs.  A different nurse comes to install my IV, and another comes to see if I need a leg shave.  (The prognosis is that I don’t need the shave, and moments later I hear the electric shaver going in the cubicle next to mine.) There are nasal swabs (oh fun!), vital signs, hospital gown, a first dose of prophylactic pain meds, and most fun of all - Sandy puts a TED stocking on my right leg, and it’s a complete bear of a process.  I wonder how I’ll handle that on my bad leg post-surgery?  But there’s not much time to wonder, since the parade of medical folks keeps coming through.  Another pre-op nurse, the surgical nurse, the anesthesiologist (a hottie named Dr. Betts;  how can someone who looks like he should still be in high school be certified at this level?  but oh, he’s a cutie, so what’s to worry?), and more.

Surgery is scheduled to start at 7 a.m., but my surgeon, Dr. Miner. hasn’t been in yet.  So I watch the clock and get increasingly nervous.  Then about ten minutes after the appointed time, he comes in, gives me a chance for any last questions, and autographs my left - the surgical one - knee.  He walks away, and all hell breaks loose.

The director called Action, the general roared Charge!, the umpire said Play Ball!

They kick Ed out, and then after a quick kiss goodbye, the whole team descends on me with a whirlwind of activity.  Someone is hooking up heart monitor leads. Someone is attaching the nasal cannula.  Dr. Betts is back, giving me the nerve block in my leg, and a spinal in my back.  My pretty blue hat goes on.  Dr. Betts injects yet another med into my IV, telling me it will help relax me.  Well, hello, good times!  It goes to work right away, and I tell him that it makes up a bit for the fact that - according to the instructions I was given - I couldn’t have a nice glass of red wine with dinner last night.  Dr. Betts smiles and says, “consider it your morning margarita”.  Oh yeah.  I’m buzzing now.

I’m fast losing touch with the world:  the cast of thousands wheels me out of pre-op, into an elevator where I get that roller-coaster stomach blip, and into the OR.  I look up at an elaborate array of overhead lights, and then it’s lights-out for me.

I’m out of surgery at 9, and by 10, I’m awake in pre-op.  An x-ray tech comes in to film my new bionic knee.  Nurses tell me I did great.  (Really, all I did was lay there and sleep.  I hope the docs did great.)  I’m in my room by 10:30.

And most amazing of all, I have zero pain.

The physical therapist comes in a noon.  Noon!  That’s just three hours after getting out of surgery.  She introduces me to three simple exercises and tells me to do ten reps of each three times a day.  I do that handily.  Look at me!  I’ve got great extension (5 degrees)!  My flexion is almost past the maximum they want me to go (I’m at 108, and they don’t want me to go more than 110).  Damn I’m good!

They take me for a walk in my walker, down the hall and back.  No problem!  I am, dammit, a Rock Star!

The rest of the day melts away.  Ed comes to stay for the duration, and friends Doug (and his dog Hank, the most wonderful and gentle chocolate lab around) and Allen come at separate times.    I watch some bad TV, read a little, and just before going lights-out, I wonder what all the fuss was about.  I've got this.  Easy-peasy!