Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Turnabout
This Friday, I go under the knife. My umbilical hernia is back, and I thought it would be wise to get it fixed before we have to call 911. I suppose I shouldn’t be nervous about this; it’s a minor procedure, day surgery; I’ve known this surgeon since ’98, and I have confidence in him. But it seems like health care workers are magnets for mistakes, and I’m no exception.
Take that first umbilical hernia. My previous surgeon (whose technique was lacking, but who cares — she was cute) didn’t use mesh, and that’s why I’m in this predicament. If you repair a hernia using mesh, the failure rate is 1 in 1000. If you don’t, it’s 1 in 5 (I hope I’m remembering that right. It’s a BIG percentage, anyway).
Back in 2000, though, that was the real screw-up. I woke up with a headache, one of those “worst headache of my life” headaches they warn you about in med school (you’re supposed to think: bleeding aneurysm, brain tumor, etc. etc.), a headache that laughed at aspirin, ibuprofen, and whatever pain med my wife was using at the time. I called my physician and he told me to go to the ER to get a lumbar puncture. At that point, I was feeling crappy enough that if he had told me to lie down on the railroad tracks, I’d have done it. By comparison, a spinal tap seemed reasonable.
Yeah, I wish! No, it was this kind of spinal tap:
The ER doc on call, not one of my favorite people, had trouble. I think I was supremely patient with the man as he dug around with the needle for the third and fourth and fifth time. When he said, “I don’t know, I just can’t get it, I think there might be some arthritis,” I resisted the urge to say, “Who, me or YOU?” But someone, thank heavens, had the bright idea to send me to the radiologist, who got the needle in under fluoro. The verdict: viral meningitis.
. . . Which should have earned me a discharge, would have earned me a discharge with just about any other doctor in any other hospital in the country. But my doctor had recently had a patient with herpes meningoencephalitis, the Mother of All Meningitides, and his patient nearly died, would never be the same again, and so dammit he was gonna be on top of things this time! He admitted me to the hospital for IV acyclovir, pending viral culture results on my spinal fluid.
Funny thing about IV acyclovir. It can put you into acute renal failure, and that’s what it did to me. Not to mention each IV infusion hurt like hell, but I’m no wuss. I didn’t shed a tear even when that little Bulgarian traveling nurse had to stab my hand for twenty minutes, looking for a new IV site. But hey, she was cute. (Is there a theme here? But I should be okay Friday. I don’t think my surgeon is cute. Sorry, Tom.)
To this day, I wonder what would have happened if my doc hadn’t gone off call and a new doc came on call. Would I be on the transplant waiting list? Who knows. The new guy, Dr. Berkowitz (yes, betas, I named my protag in honor of Dr. B), told me this was BS. I’d be much sicker if this were herpetic meningitis. He got me off the acyclovir, poured IV fluids into me, and sent me home with orders to drink three liters a day for a while. That was fun.
My attitude towards the upcoming operation is much the same as my attitude towards plane flights. I experience a small but perfect blossom of relief: for once, I Am Not Responsible. Someone else is undeniably in charge. (I had a massage yesterday, and that’s a similar experience — except that my pager stays on during a massage. If anyone wants to reach me on Friday . . . well, let ’em try.)
There’s a difference, of course. Most people don’t survive plane crashes. But in surgery, most of the bad things that happen fall far short of death. Yeah, I know — it’s just a bloody hernia repair. Quit whining.
Hopefully not too bloody.
You can bet I’m going to photo-blog this baby.
D.
Hey, I’ll do it. How hard can it be? A little cutting, a little sewing…
Okay, but you had better leave me with an inny.
Memo to self: Do not Google medical conditions that Doug blogs about. Ewwww.
That said, best of luck with the surgery, Doug. And remember, no heavy lifting or straining for 6 weeks, apparently. Work it for all it’s worth.
Oh, it’s not that bad. When I photoblog it, you’ll see that my pre-op belly button is nearly indistinguishable from normal. I’m not one of these people who looks like Alien is pushing his way out of my belly.
As for lifting, my surgeon says to do whatever feels comfortable. I’m stubborn. I’ll start working it as soon as I can stand the pain.
oh, let’s be honest . . . I just like pain.
Not like:
http://www.barwonhealth.org.au/periop/abdo/umbilica.htm
then?
Sorry to hear about the surgery. I”m even sorrier to hear about the photo blog. YUK! Gag! Uh boy! I think I need some water.
{{{{hugs}}}} and good luck, Doug. Don’t flirt too strenuously. 😉 On the other hand, you could always blame the more outrageous things on the anesthesia or pain meds (you will be getting some good pain meds, right?), so have fun.
Hey, with me operating? It’d be an inny all right. In fact, you’d be lucky to escape with only a small crater.
“Oh, what’s this interesting bit over here? Cool! Let’s dig that out. Neat, what is it? Oh, it’s his liver? Guess I’ll try to put it back then.”
microsoar: nope, not even. It’s palpable but not visible. Like I said, this time, I didn’t want to wait until I had to call the ambulance.
CD: oh, it’ll be fun! Wait and see.
Thanks, Darla. The operative word is “disinhibition.” That means I get to say and do whatever I want and blame it on anesthesia.
Dean: livers regenerate. You can take up to half of it, and I’ll do just fine. Got any chianti and fava beans handy?
Good luck – hope you get a sexy (and slightly cruel) post-op nurse!
Good luck young man.
Looking forward to the Photo Blog. I kinda dig that stuff.
Yikes. Will YOU be taking the photos during? Or are they going to knock you out for this?
Mesh. I know I have to look it up now, and I don’t wanna. Ugh.
I’m hoping to get one of my nurses to take the photos. Hopefully, I won’t be violating hospital policy, but hey, for another two months, I’m still Chief of Staff. Doesn’t that mean I get to veto hospital policy? No?
Good luck! I’m sure all will go well!
Heh. With my mom’s recent gallbladder surgery, the surgeon took her belly button away. Sewed right over it.
He didn’t even ask.
Of course, that was one of the places where her incision popped open, so she’ll have a wonky oval shaped hole slightly to the left of where her belly button used to be.
And why is it that health care workers are magnets for mistakes? Mom used to be an RN, and she seemed to have gotten a lot of them. We obviously didn’t know the connection or she might have skipped it and kept the rocks.
You’ll be fine, though. If he screws up, you can fire him or something, right? 😉
Best of luck, you’ll be just fine.
Anduin, Mauigirl, thanks.
Shelbi, if I wake up without a belly button, so help me I’m suing.
I can’t wait to see the knarly stitches and bruising!! I’ve had a grand time with my bruise. Hope it all goes well, you know – no sneezing in the OR or anything worse. Do patients fart on the operating table? I’ve always wondered.
Best of luck! Maybe in your case, instead of mesh they should use chain mail.
BTW, I hate that with the IVs. This last stay at the hospital I had holes, bruises and blown veins all up and down my arms and hands by the end. I was beginning to wonder when they’d make like horse junkies and start shooting me up in my toe webs or eyelids…
[…] 3. Lumbar puncture. As you may recall, I have firsthand experience with this, too. It’s not bad, provided you’ve been pumped full of demerol and the practitioner knows what he’s doing. […]