Quelle Surprise

Surgery, of any kind, sucks.

Except maybe something like a facelift. Which is probably no walk in the park, but still. Come on, you're getting a new, hopefully better looking, face.

Anyway, when you have surgery, there're things that you know are gonna be horrible. 

The standard stuff. Going under anesthesia, pain, inconvenience, rehab, shitty insurance, blah, blah. 

Well, I'm here to tell you, that's just the start of your long careen downhill. 

First, there's the cheerful phone call you get from the admitting nurse the day before.

Nurse Ratchet: Oh...do you have a living will?

Me: Ahhh...yes...

Ratchet: Advanced health care directive?

Me: Ahhh...yes...

Ratchet: Can you bring them with you?

Me. Ahhh...why...

Ratchet: Well, in the event you're unable to make decisions for yourself, we need to know who can...you know...decide.

Me: I don't plan on not being able to decide.

Ratchet: No one does, dear. No one does.

They apparently need to know who can unplug you before you're even plugged in.

Then there's the surgical outfit.

Although I hesitate to say I wouldn't be caught dead in it, because I might, I take great offense at it, for several reasons besides the obvious ugly factor. Here are two:

Why do I need a hairnet? I'm not frying chicken at KFC. And why does hubby insist I look absolutely precious as he's taking my picture with it on?

Why, in the name of Marcus Welby, MD, does the gown open in the back? 

Are immediate anal probe situations common? 

Will they need emergency access to my ass? 

I'm no doctor, but it seems to me that any medical crisis would involve things like your heart...which is not in the back last I checked. 

The more I think about it, I'm not sure why it has to be open at all. Everyone who's ever watched an episode of ER knows that if you're in the operating room, you're at home plate. All they'd need to do is use one of the many sharp implements at their disposal to cut it open if need arises. 

I am convinced this whole set up is for their amusement only. 

I've seen Seinfeld. I know what goes on when you're sedated.

And speaking of open back gowns...even though you've been under a general anesthetic, had an epidural and are pretty much dead from the neck down, they will give you a laxative. 

This needs no more commentary.

The drugs might not be as good as you hoped.

There are actually several that didn't work for me. This can take hours, perhaps days, to figure out. 

And that red thing on your remote isn't a call button for a cocktail bearing waiter. In fact, they don't allow liquor of any kind. 

Is this a shock to anyone but me? 

When they insert the catheter, you're anesthetized. 

When they take it out, you're not.

Your surgeon might be the orthopedic specialist for the Nuggets. 

If he is, he might mistake you for a professional, or at the very least, a wanna be - athlete. Amazing, considering the open-in-the-back gown situation that's proof positive you have no fear of atrophy. 

Never mind that, your rehab program starts when you're still sedated. 

Unfortunately, you don't stay sedated.

Hubby assures me that the counting sequence when doing reps is NOT one, two, ten, seventeen...

Then there's the swelling. 

Anywhere that anyone got near during your hospital stay swells to twice it's normal size. 

In my case that was my left foot, leg, and ass. 

The upside is...there is no upside. 

They tell you to bring comfortable clothes to go home in. Not clothes three sizes bigger.

The outfit you have to wear at home is worse than the surgical duds. 

As I type I'm wearing an ice pack diaper and have my leg in a machine that's right out of a Saw film. Up until yesterday, I wore blood clot prevention boots. 

At least I'm allowed to wear pants. Big pants.

My surgeon's initials are in, apparently, indelible ink on my left thigh. This is creepy. 

Think about it.

Finally, Hubby says I'm mouthy, cocky, and uncooperative.

This doesn't count as a surprise though, since that's what he said on our first date.

The joke's on me. I get to do it all again on the other side in March.