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Wednesday, June 14, 2000
Two years ago: Festival Wrap-up
Three years ago: The Mother of Philosophy
Sunday: a quiet evening at home. Monday: a quiet evening at home. I did some laundry, I think. I packed my bag so I could drive up to Jack's place after work on Tuesday.
Jack and I were quiet together Tuesday night. He was a bit worried about his operation, understandably. But he's been in near-constant pain for the last month, so he was also eager just to get it done! We fell asleep early, after I brought the big-number alarm clock downstairs and set it.
* * * * * * * *
We woke up early, at around four thirty in the morning. That left time for both of us to shower, and then to drive to the hospital. We got the closest space to the main door, as the dawn grew to day around us. Paperwork at the admitting desk didn't take long, then we were guided up to the outpatient surgery center. There was a small waiting area where we sat for a brief time. Above the sink and coffee machine, there was a big sign directed at surgical patients, warning them not to drink anything if they were to have an operation.
Soon the nurse took us across the hall, to a double (or "semi-private" meaning not private) hospital room. Jack was assigned to the bed next to the window, and advised to get undressed and to put on the hospital gown. I helped by sticking his clothes in the tiny closet, and I helped to tie his gown. It would be difficult to fasten it by yourself -- the ties at the neck weren't a problem, but the ones at midback were trickier since one was actually under the arm.
A nurse (there were so many in and out) wheeled in a scale for Jack to stand on and be weighed. He's lost ten or fifteen pounds in the last month. Blood pressure and pulse -- normal. She had a long checklist of medical history questions to ask him. A family relations volunteer came in and talked, telling me what to expect. She would come and fetch me after the op, when Jack went into the recovery room. I told her I'd be in the cafeteria. Then we waited for about an hour, watching the local news on TV.
Jack had chosen to walk to the surgical prep area (as opposed riding on a stretcher), so I walked with him as far as that door, and gave him a hug and kiss. Then I immediately walked downstairs and had breakfast.
* * * * * * * *
I brought a book along with me to the hospital -- Nebula Award-Winning Novellas, edited by Martin H. Greenberg. It really did help occupy me while I ate sausages and scrambled eggs. Some of the stories I had read before, but some were new to me. I think the saddest one (but I was riveted by it) was "Hardfought" by Greg Bear. It had some very alien aliens, and clones of clones, and lots of fast-paced action as well.
I waited in the cafeteria for two hours. One thing that made it a bit nervewracking was that the volunteer (a very nice elderly lady) was in and out of the room several times, and a table near the door was her home base, so I could see her, but she wasn't necessarily there for me. Finally she came to fetch me, and led me up to the surgical consultation room. Again I waited, until Jack's surgeon came to talk to me. "Well, it was a pretty tough gall bladder, but it's out with no problems." He described it as in bad shape, and definitely needing to come out. Since the prelimary tests hadn't shown stones, I don't think he'd been quite convinced of the need ofr surgery beforehand, but he was glad he'd ordered it.
From there I went back to Jack's room and waited there. Another man was checked into the other bed while I waited, and went through the same procedures of changing clothes, vital signs and medical history, while I sat reading behind the curtain. After about another hour they wheeled Jack back in, conscious but groggy and uncomfortable. He had three incisions on the upper right part of his abdomen (over his liver) and one just above his navel. He was craving ice chips for his dry mouth, but he paced himself on them on advice of the recovery room nurse. His pain was bad enough that he got a shot of demerol.
From then on it was a gradual but speedy recovery process. Ice chips, a popsicle, ice water. Nurses took his blood pressure and temperature about every fifteen minutes. I went down and got some food in the cafeteria around eleven thirty, and brought it back to the room. "You didn't have to come back up right away!" said Jack, but I'd rather be near him than down in the hospital cafeteria. We looked out the window into an inner courtyard -- the magnolia blossom that had been a bud earlier was now about a foot and a half in diameter. The surgeon dropped by and told Jack basically what he'd told me earlier.
Around one o'clock, the nurse asked Jack if he was ready to go home. Once the patient has voided (as they so quaintly put it), and has kept some liquid down, they are ready to release him. Jack wanted to go home. Did I mention the construction they were doing on the floor below? I see that I forgot -- drilling and hammering, so I think it would take general anesthesia to get any sleep there. Jack got dressed, and I went down to bring the car up to the door.
I got Jack home, then drove to the store to get his prescriptions filled -- more vicodin, and an anti-inflammatory that was supposed to be better than ibuprofen. The doctor warned us that Group Health probably wouldn't pay for it, drat them! But when it turned out to only cost around twenty bucks, I went for it anyway. Plus gatorade, sobe, crackers and popsicles.
* * * * * * * *
Jack sacked out in his recliner the rest of the day. I'm so glad this whole thing went smoothly! I'd talked to his parents from the hospital room.
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Cheerfulness, sir, is the principle ingredient in the composition of health.
-- Arthur Murphy
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