I walk in at 7 AM, hospital registration, pre-payment, waiting, answering questions, getting an IV, putting on the hospital gown that more resembled something an astronaut would wear than something you'd find on a patient, getting nice warm air pumped into said gown because "the surgeons like you to be warm (.....?), waiting, talking to 1 of 3 anesthesiologists I would meet today, getting my knee shaved (that section of the leg now looks like it belongs to a 2 year old, or maybe a newborn infant), figuring out the TV, waiting. Blood pressure. Waiting. For the first of 3 or 4 times I am asked my name, birthdate, and type of surgery. I feel assured that they will not bring me to the wrong place and/or operate on the wrong thing.
Finally, into a wheelchair and off to the recovery room for a nerve block. This is where they pump some sort of medication in your femoral artery to numb the top of your leg down to your knee. Since the arthroscopic incisions are on the top of the knee, this helps with the post-op pain- at least in theory (I can report, sitting here a few hours after the procedure, that while it helps, it also makes your leg feel like it's asleep. A rather unpleasant side effect, but I guess it's worth it). The nurses are great, one is training in and I can tell she's shy. She lets the other one take the lead, but speaks up from time to time. I engage them in some conversation about their job, they hook up heart monitors and o2 sat level detectors along with oxygen in my nose. Again they ask my Name, birthdate, and type of surgery. I am fairly sure that the correct procedure will be taking place. Prior to the nerve block they give me verced, which is a medicine given for anti anxiety. I can report that it does its job. My pulse is below 70 and I feel gooooooood. Blood pressure. Wait. The aforementioned anesthesiologist enters and injects the nerve block. It's not comfortable. I am asked again my name, birthdate, and type of surgery. I am almost entirely convinced that the correct part will be operated on by the right person.
A nurse appears and whisks me away to the OR. I've never been wheeled around this much in my life. A 2nd anesthesiologist appears over me as I roll and says he'll be in the room with me. Seems like a nice guy and, more importantly, like he knows what he's talking about. The OR is really cold. I'm moved from the recovery bed to the table as wires and cables are hooked in in many places. Things seem to be being done by people who know what they're doing. Over my face goes a mask, oxygen they say. Breathe deep. For a final time I'm asked my name, birthdate, and the type of surgery that will be performed. Both my name and surgery type are written on a markerboard on the wall, but I pretend I haven't seen this. 1000% sure I'm in the right place at this point. I wait....
I wake up what feels like seconds later back in the recovery room, only this time I feel as though I drank 20 beers and headed to bed without brushing teeth or drinking water. Mouth is dry and has a horrible taste, head is groggy. It's difficult to see and OH DEAR LORD MY KNEE OWWWWWWWWWWWWW OWW OWWW OWWWWWWWWW. The pain is not cool. It feels as though my leg has both fallen asleep and been rooted around in with a hand mixer. I bring this to the attention of my nurse standing by the bed. She pushes a painkiller of some sort through the IV and in so doing becomes the love of my life. The pain sticks around and then slips off into the night, leaving me feeling nice but still lucid enough to converse with the nurse and make her laugh a couple times. Win. She informs me the surgery took 3 hours and that it's almost 1 PM. It literally feels as though it was 9:30 just 10 minutes earlier from my perspective. A few more pushes through the IV and my knee suddenly feels like it's not even there. Uncomfortable to move, but not in seething pain.
Off we go (being rolled yet again) to an individual room. En route I see my mom for the first time, a really welcome sight. She drove up from Fergus to take me home. Suddenly I see an advantage to marriage- were I married, she wouldn't have to worry about it. Touché, marriage. Touché. I'm asked again for my name and date of birth, which seems odd given that I am laying there with my knee in what resembles a cast. If I'm lying, I sure got away with it. I prove my lucidity by expertly answering these impossible questions and the nurse seems satisfied. More waiting. Food. Wonderful, delightful, amazing food. It's only toast and chicken noodle soup, but I haven't eaten in 18 hours so I may as well be at a Ruth's Criss. The nurse details my drugs: 3 for pain, one for poopin, and 1 aspirin. Seems odd that they prescribe aspirin, but I'm no doctor so what do I know?
Off to the pharmacy to get those scripts filled. I'm really thankful I remembered my pharmacy insurance card. The Pharmacist is my age and super cute. That helped. Suddenly we are out the door, just 6 hours after I arrive I'm sitting in my passenger seat being driven home by mom. This is a surgery that ended Gayle Sayers' career 50 years ago, but I'm in and out of the hospital in 6 hours. Thanks for having me during the time of modern medicine, parents!
And here we go, therapy starts in 2 days and until then I lay here with an ice machine pumping cold water around my knee. I have my alarm set for every 4 hours to take more drugs and it's time to start getting better. It's been a year since I could run full speed or play sports unhindered, I'm ready to be done with that. Time to attack this rehab with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind.
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