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Recovery Room

I was told I was shivering when I was wheeled out of the operating room, which might explain the lavender electric blanket on my lower extremities, but not necessarily where my desperate pre-op need to pee had gone.  This was even more troubling than the plastic sea of purple over my legs.  I was  only slightly comforted by the fact that the pre-op nurse was highly complimentary of my hand veins.  She knows that how I got my man.

In any case, my compliments to the anesthesiologist.  I'd assumed a local anesthetic, which added to my furor over the solid foods ban, which, since the surgery was delayed, stretched to thirteen and a half hours.  But when I was told that I'd receive a heaping helping of night-night juice, I was secretly relived.  This way, I'd experience weapons-grade hypoglycemic conditions and any other potentially humiliating Medical Moments while blissfully unaware.

I remember walking into the operating room; I remember setting my arms onto a Papoose board, the likes of which I hadn't seen since I tore my chin open after a fall in 1981; and, since this was 1981, that one had an actual Indian painted on it.  I remember one of the nurses leaning over to add a load of something liquid to the saline solution which was already doing a bang-up hydration job.  "This will relax you a little," she said, because in Operating Room world, "relax you a little" = "making the world go away pretty much instantaneously."  And indeed, when the surgeon summoned Josh The Pilot from the waiting room to inform him that I would continue eating for two for the foreseeable future, he was also told I was "just starting to wake up."

It was another hour before I opened my eyes and immediately demanded information, my husband, and some sort of liquid, but not necessarily in that order.  I was also given the World's Most Exquisite Graham Cracker and not nearly enough ginger ale, but the very best thing about all of it was that it stayed where I put it.

We departed with a wheelchair and other lovely parting gifts, including hospital-brand ChapStick, an extremely useful icepack made out of paper, and a brochure instructing me to avoid driving, chainsaws, and "major decisions" for the next twenty-four hours.  Well, good thing the American Idol season is over.

there was a bag of chocolate organic graham crackers shaped like bunny rabbits, too, but they tasted like bunny poop at:  mbe@drinktothelasses.com

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Reader Comments (6)

[...] Published | morningworksmedia Mary Beth has no idea what went on in that operating room, and she’s okay with that. Share and [...]

[...] See the original post: Recovery Room [...]

Oof. Well, stupidly inconsequential surgery aside, I hope you are feeling much, much better!

June 21, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterLex

Well, another good thing about the general anesthetic is that it prevented you from confronting the doctor after he failed to actually perform that which was the original intention of the surgical procedure. That would have been... uncomfortable :-/

June 22, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterred pill junkie

He warned me before the surgery several times that he might not be able to find it, so I'm not angry. There was some repair work done, and he says that should help with the pain I've been having. No complaints here.

June 22, 2009 | Unregistered CommenterMB

That's good news :)

June 22, 2009 | Unregistered Commenterred pill junkie
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