Lighter side of surgery part 1
Living in the USA we are surrounded by incredible advances in technology, especially in the medical field. So advanced, in fact, that sometimes I wonder about the glaringly obvious foibles that accompany such brilliance. I am referring specifically to my heart procedure yesterday. I warned the doctors and nurses that anything they did or said to me may be used in a future Facebook post for my general amusement. Unguarded as they were, laughter ensued and a number of spontaneous incidents squeezed unwittingly into my day. The first began when I started changing into the hospital gown….I began singing Queen's rendition of "Flash Gordon". Flash…ah ah Etc. Spurred by the gaping holes in the rear of the gown, it seemed appropriate that I should make light of my stark white jiggly bits longing for shelter beneath the overused, poorly fitting "gown". The term "gown" leaves much room for improvement….just sayin'.. one might imagine being handed something sparkly with matching shoes when hearing the word. But alas, my attention was snapped back into reality as I saw the crumpled cotton masterpiece awaiting me on the bed. Thoughts raced through my mind as I asked why it had, at the very least, missed being caressed by an iron. Then there were the scratchy, yellow socks. Their purpose is two-fold. First to keep your feet warm and second, to prevent you slipping on the polished floor while dashing to the "facility". The point is, one wouldn't have to dash at all if the bits you didn't want anyone to see were properly covered in the first place….Then as the nurses snapped the beautiful, blue latex gloves on their freshly sterilized hands, a razor was produced. Now in order to spare the blushes of my adoring public and the privacy of the author, let's just say one wasn't prepared for that particular event. I do recall asking them who had suggested the " sticky mit" and perhaps a lint roller may have been a teensy bit kinder. Not sure how long it was before they picked themselves up off the floor from laughing so hard but when one finds oneself in these unplanned and somewhat precarious situations, one has to improvise.
On entering my room, the anesthesiologist immediately detected my sense of humour and a twinkly look escaped from beneath his surgical mask. I had to offer a disclaimer that I was not responsible for things spoken under the influence of anesthesia. I do recall trying to sell him and everyone else in the operating room, a copy of my book. Like a sacred oath taken by operating room staff, what happens in the OR stays in the OR. Their lips are sealed and I will never learn, if, like on a previous occasion, I proposed to all the male staff attending me….