Gurney
Posts: 237
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Posted: Mon Dec. 19, 2005 11:22 pm
I'm a Gurney on a gurney, an IV in my hand, half of my groin recently shaved, and my resting heart rate (I've been on my back for at least 45 minutes by then) is...if you can believe this...110. I haven't eaten or drank anything since last night, I'm hungry, thirsty, grumpy, and scared.
The Anesthetist asks me if I "want a little something to relieve my anxiety." I'm not sure it was the heart rate, or the sweat pouring down my face that causes him to ask the question, but before I can answer he toddles off to find me the medical equivalent of a belt of Scotch. I think it was because he didn't want me to have a heart attack on his shift.
After the belt of Scotch settles in I find out the Anesthetist, now my good friend, worked support for this year's Tour de Stu. He lies to me about his biking stories, I lie to him with my biking stories. Life is good for a few moments.
Then they wheel me into the OR, and transfer me to the table. They start to strap me down to the table, explaining that it's precautionary because the table is so narrow. My heart rate went through the roof, realizing that this whole business about "you might be awake under the combined local and general anesthesia, but you won't be aware of any of the operation" was a lie. These maniacs are going to torture me! The Anesthetist then said to me "How are you feeling?"
Only I wasn't in the OR. I was back at the start/finish line. Obviously I survived being tortured, and I couldn't feel a thing. Somewhere I lost an hour and a half. I felt like I had a really nice nap, from which I wasn't quite fully awake.
After about 10 minutes of waking up, I ate four pieces of toast, two cups of coffee, and then had a muffin. I insisted I was good to go, they insisted I sit on my duff for another half hour, then held me by my arm as I walked up and down the length of the room, past four people in various stages of pre- and post-colonoscopy bliss, and one other poor bastard who was about to get his hernia sewn up. He was chatting with the Anesthetist. I realized that an Anesthetist is just like a bartender. Then they agreed to call my wife to come get me. The surgeon came by and said everything went fine. He said "they are easy when there's no body fat." One excuse to keep riding, folks.
I must interject here. Getting me to the hospital at 6:30 AM was no small feat for my wife, given a trio of small children at home, and predicted foul weather. In a stroke of genius, I considered Chris Namie's commute to Bow would take him more or less by NLH at more or less 6:30, and I asked him to drop me off on the way. He agreed. Of course, it snowed like the dickens Friday, with forecasters predicting the end of life as we know it. School was cancelled (Chris teaches High School), but Chris showed up promptly just the same. And he said he would call Rhonda to offer to pick me up when the deed was done.
By mid-morning the road conditions really sucked. Chris showed up to bring me home. Not only did Chris give me ride to and from the hospital in a snowstorm, but he relieved my wife of the anxiety of having to bundle the kids up and drive them through the snowstorm - twice. And he kept me from worrying about my wife and kids. Thank you, Chris.
Once home, propped in front of the woodstove with a book in my hand, and Darvocet in my system, life was good for a spell. As the local wore off, the Darvocet couldn't keep up, and I was pretty well convinced that the surgeon screwed up. Every time I coughed (I lied about my cold being over - I didn't want to delay this whole business and its recovery into spring) I was reasonably certain, as PJ so aptly described, my intestines were going to fall out.
With a cocktail of Darvocet and a nighttime cold medicine, I slept like baby. With Saturday came an improvement, and I got on the tractor to snow blow the driveway. I walked down to the mailbox. Sunday I walked a mile, although I walked like an old man. Today I walked a mile a little faster, more like a middle-aged man, and I didn't need any drugs other than a few ibu's. (I asked the doc's for EPO, no dice.)
Two weeks, no spinning/running/riding, and then slowly ease into it over the next four weeks. By the first of February I should be back on track. The only problem is "taming the internal pig-dog" and not eating everything in sight. Bad enough to take six weeks off from real training, never mind putting on extra ballast around the belly.
I realize that "hernia repair surgery" is way off topic for this forum. But there isn't a whole lot else being posted these days, so what the heck. Save a bike for me the first Tuesday night in February.
Merry Christmas to all and to all.
MG
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