Handy Dandy Surgery is Handy Dandy
Had surgery today to remove a cyst from my left thumb. The cyst was interfering with blood flow to the tip of my finger, and causing pins and needles in my thumb, and prevented me from full range of movement for sign language. It was still growing, so it had to go.
My darling husband got up before the crack of dawn and drove me and Sparkle downtown to the surgery center. Sparkle had to come because pre-dawn babysitters on a weekday are, well, pretty rare on the ground. I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep, so I was pretty tired. We checked in, and they double checked that I was in fact, me, with my name, birth date, social security, attending doctor and insurance information, what I was having done today as well as name badges for the people picking me up. Sparkle was happy to have her own badge, although it took three times for the nurse to accurately parse her name and write it down correctly. I was told I needed to provide a sample so they could do a pregnancy test. Having just seen the TV show I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, I didn't argue the unlikelihood of being pregnant when my husband has undergone a procedure to prevent it. It's one of those CYA things hospitals do Just In Case. (Unsurprisingly, I wasn't.)
When I changed, I had to not have anything metal on. I'm not certain why. But, off went my wedding rings, my diabetic alert bracelet, and my hair bandy, which had a metal crimp in it. So weird not to have them back on yet now, but fingers are too puffy. I suppose the bracelet could go on my right hand if I asked my darling husband to oblige.
The worst part of the whole thing was getting the IV line in. The first nurse tried two places, circling and trying. This while the intake nurse was checking that I was in fact, me, with my name, birth date, what I was having done today and the name of my doctor. I had to think really hard about that last one, because the needle moving around made me forget. The second nurse tried two places, circling and trying while the anesthesiologist had me say "Ah," and poked and prodded my fingernails and skin. The nurses said that they weren't going to try any more, they were getting a doctor to do it. This was a doctor, explained my intake nurse, who was the guy they called in when things went to crap during surgery who could re-establish IVs when everything went wrong. Looking at my face, she rushed to assure me that since nothing was wrong, this guy could get an IV in me no problem.
This doctor first injected me with lidocaine, and then went digging in my inner wrist, which didn't bother me because I couldn't feel it. While he did so, my surgeon put an "X" on the thumb to be cut, and his initials on my forearm. The IV doctor had me hold tips of things so he could twist and get things put together. It was interesting. When he was done, and the IV was running, I told him, "That was kewl." He said "That's because the IV is room temperature, so it does feel cold flowing in that's normal." Geek miscommunication. All this took forty minutes.
In the OR, they double checked that I was, in fact, me, with my name, birthday, what I was having done and the name of my doctor. I had to run a mental list through all of my doctors chronologically until I finally came up with his name. I have had too many doctor's appointments this summer, I swear, for my foot, for my diabetes, for my regular doctor and for my hand. I asked if I would be twilighted or completely under. Completely under, I wouldn't remember anything. (Deja vu, I've heard that before sometime recently...) I expressed disappointment at not being able to watch. And then, I was out. Mostly.
I heard eighties music, the kind that I remember hearing in high school on the radio that you don't hear on the oldies stations any more, because they weren't lasting hits. I heard the anesthesiologist tell people that his family in Pakistan lived in a non-flooded area of the country, and were okay.
I heard my voice say "That's sharp," which surprised me, because I wasn't distressed or really in pain or anything.
A pause. "Can you feel this?" I didn't say anything back, because I wasn't feeling anything.
I then said, "That's a needle." I was aware of the stab, but it really didn't bother me, it just was.
"I'm giving you more lidocaine as a local," said my doctor. That was fine. I listened to them do their thing, like it was a nice dream. Nice drugs. I could hear them just fine, and wished I could see. But my eyes were shut, so, oh, well.
They finished up, and wrapped me up, and moved a blue sheet from off of my face (there was a sheet on my face?) and showed me my cyst. Now, I had expected something the size of a pencil eraser, the kind in the little metal cap on the end of the pencil from the size of the lump on my thumb from the outside. This thing was the size of a marble! And round. Yellow-tan, with red and blue lines through it. Non-cancerous, said the doctor. Had been growing around the tendon, and pressing on the nerves and blood vessels. I thought it was really nice that he showed it to me, since I'd been interested. I'm going to have a triangle shaped scar, but since the nerve was not cut into to get the thing out, I should have full sensitivity and movement no problem, as soon as the tendon heals.
They covered me over with nice heated blankets, and wheeled me into recovery. They checked that I knew that I was me. I told them my name, my birth date, and that I was here to have a cyst removed from my left thumb, but we'd done that part already. The nurses thought I was funny. Talking with one another in medical talk, one nurse told the other that I was a "MAC," and I said "Hello, I'm a Mac, and that's a PC," indicating the computer monitors. The nurse laughed and claimed she'd never heard that one before. My darling husband and Sparkle were led in as I got to drink some ginger ale. It was the most wonderful ginger ale I'd ever had, ever.
"Mommy doesn't feel well," Sparkle kept repeating. I think Sparkle's experience with her oral surgery last week helped give her the empathy to realize this, since she too has awoken from anesthesia and hooked up to heart and finger and blood pressure cuff. Since she felt awful after that, it wasn't a great leap for her to realize I must be not at my best, either. She was very quiet, and gentle, and sweet.
My darling husband helped get me dressed, and they gave me a prescription for hydrocodone for pain, and they told my husband that I wasn't to make any legal decisions today. Double checking, I'm not supposed to either drive or make legal decisions while on it in the next week. Sparkle told me that I wasn't feeling well several times on the way home. I found myself noting that between last week and this, Sparkle has added the "well" to the end of that sentence, which was "I don't feel hum hum hum," then.
At home, my wonderful husband made me a sandwich, and I had my painkillers lounged in front of the TV on the giant bean bag, watching medical shows about people far worse of than I, which was perversely comforting and helped me not wallow in pity. I teared up at all of the mushy spots in all of the shows. I even got to see more episodes of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. And MythBusters. The bean bag let me drowse while keeping my arm elevated. My fingers were like fat sausages, and had that movable numbness I associate with a numb tongue and cheek at the dentist's (lidocaine) and felt weird coming back on line. In fact, my forefinger is only just un-numb.
The wrappings are tight, and stay on for five days. I can fully move my left fingers (which is good for my posting this) but not my thumb, which is rather the point of the bandages, so yay! the bandages are doing their proper job.
My darling husband made me soup for dinner, and man, it was the most tasty soup evar! Good ole Campbell's: Soup Is Good Food. I had some ice cream, which was yum, and then Sparkle asked for some of the Jell-O I'd made my husband prepare last night in case I was put on clear liquids because of anesthetics or something, and that sounded really good. He dipped me up some, and oh, my goodness, it was the BEST JELL-O, ever! The simple things in life appear to mean so much. I'm sure that the drugs help me appreciate such things.
So, the operation was a success, and the doctor's assurances that I will have a full and quick recovery are a balm to my pre-operation nerves, and I will still be able to sign away to my heart's content, after my bandages come off.
My darling husband got up before the crack of dawn and drove me and Sparkle downtown to the surgery center. Sparkle had to come because pre-dawn babysitters on a weekday are, well, pretty rare on the ground. I hadn't gotten a good night's sleep, so I was pretty tired. We checked in, and they double checked that I was in fact, me, with my name, birth date, social security, attending doctor and insurance information, what I was having done today as well as name badges for the people picking me up. Sparkle was happy to have her own badge, although it took three times for the nurse to accurately parse her name and write it down correctly. I was told I needed to provide a sample so they could do a pregnancy test. Having just seen the TV show I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant, I didn't argue the unlikelihood of being pregnant when my husband has undergone a procedure to prevent it. It's one of those CYA things hospitals do Just In Case. (Unsurprisingly, I wasn't.)
When I changed, I had to not have anything metal on. I'm not certain why. But, off went my wedding rings, my diabetic alert bracelet, and my hair bandy, which had a metal crimp in it. So weird not to have them back on yet now, but fingers are too puffy. I suppose the bracelet could go on my right hand if I asked my darling husband to oblige.
The worst part of the whole thing was getting the IV line in. The first nurse tried two places, circling and trying. This while the intake nurse was checking that I was in fact, me, with my name, birth date, what I was having done today and the name of my doctor. I had to think really hard about that last one, because the needle moving around made me forget. The second nurse tried two places, circling and trying while the anesthesiologist had me say "Ah," and poked and prodded my fingernails and skin. The nurses said that they weren't going to try any more, they were getting a doctor to do it. This was a doctor, explained my intake nurse, who was the guy they called in when things went to crap during surgery who could re-establish IVs when everything went wrong. Looking at my face, she rushed to assure me that since nothing was wrong, this guy could get an IV in me no problem.
This doctor first injected me with lidocaine, and then went digging in my inner wrist, which didn't bother me because I couldn't feel it. While he did so, my surgeon put an "X" on the thumb to be cut, and his initials on my forearm. The IV doctor had me hold tips of things so he could twist and get things put together. It was interesting. When he was done, and the IV was running, I told him, "That was kewl." He said "That's because the IV is room temperature, so it does feel cold flowing in that's normal." Geek miscommunication. All this took forty minutes.
In the OR, they double checked that I was, in fact, me, with my name, birthday, what I was having done and the name of my doctor. I had to run a mental list through all of my doctors chronologically until I finally came up with his name. I have had too many doctor's appointments this summer, I swear, for my foot, for my diabetes, for my regular doctor and for my hand. I asked if I would be twilighted or completely under. Completely under, I wouldn't remember anything. (Deja vu, I've heard that before sometime recently...) I expressed disappointment at not being able to watch. And then, I was out. Mostly.
I heard eighties music, the kind that I remember hearing in high school on the radio that you don't hear on the oldies stations any more, because they weren't lasting hits. I heard the anesthesiologist tell people that his family in Pakistan lived in a non-flooded area of the country, and were okay.
I heard my voice say "That's sharp," which surprised me, because I wasn't distressed or really in pain or anything.
A pause. "Can you feel this?" I didn't say anything back, because I wasn't feeling anything.
I then said, "That's a needle." I was aware of the stab, but it really didn't bother me, it just was.
"I'm giving you more lidocaine as a local," said my doctor. That was fine. I listened to them do their thing, like it was a nice dream. Nice drugs. I could hear them just fine, and wished I could see. But my eyes were shut, so, oh, well.
They finished up, and wrapped me up, and moved a blue sheet from off of my face (there was a sheet on my face?) and showed me my cyst. Now, I had expected something the size of a pencil eraser, the kind in the little metal cap on the end of the pencil from the size of the lump on my thumb from the outside. This thing was the size of a marble! And round. Yellow-tan, with red and blue lines through it. Non-cancerous, said the doctor. Had been growing around the tendon, and pressing on the nerves and blood vessels. I thought it was really nice that he showed it to me, since I'd been interested. I'm going to have a triangle shaped scar, but since the nerve was not cut into to get the thing out, I should have full sensitivity and movement no problem, as soon as the tendon heals.
They covered me over with nice heated blankets, and wheeled me into recovery. They checked that I knew that I was me. I told them my name, my birth date, and that I was here to have a cyst removed from my left thumb, but we'd done that part already. The nurses thought I was funny. Talking with one another in medical talk, one nurse told the other that I was a "MAC," and I said "Hello, I'm a Mac, and that's a PC," indicating the computer monitors. The nurse laughed and claimed she'd never heard that one before. My darling husband and Sparkle were led in as I got to drink some ginger ale. It was the most wonderful ginger ale I'd ever had, ever.
"Mommy doesn't feel well," Sparkle kept repeating. I think Sparkle's experience with her oral surgery last week helped give her the empathy to realize this, since she too has awoken from anesthesia and hooked up to heart and finger and blood pressure cuff. Since she felt awful after that, it wasn't a great leap for her to realize I must be not at my best, either. She was very quiet, and gentle, and sweet.
My darling husband helped get me dressed, and they gave me a prescription for hydrocodone for pain, and they told my husband that I wasn't to make any legal decisions today. Double checking, I'm not supposed to either drive or make legal decisions while on it in the next week. Sparkle told me that I wasn't feeling well several times on the way home. I found myself noting that between last week and this, Sparkle has added the "well" to the end of that sentence, which was "I don't feel hum hum hum," then.
At home, my wonderful husband made me a sandwich, and I had my painkillers lounged in front of the TV on the giant bean bag, watching medical shows about people far worse of than I, which was perversely comforting and helped me not wallow in pity. I teared up at all of the mushy spots in all of the shows. I even got to see more episodes of I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. And MythBusters. The bean bag let me drowse while keeping my arm elevated. My fingers were like fat sausages, and had that movable numbness I associate with a numb tongue and cheek at the dentist's (lidocaine) and felt weird coming back on line. In fact, my forefinger is only just un-numb.
The wrappings are tight, and stay on for five days. I can fully move my left fingers (which is good for my posting this) but not my thumb, which is rather the point of the bandages, so yay! the bandages are doing their proper job.
My darling husband made me soup for dinner, and man, it was the most tasty soup evar! Good ole Campbell's: Soup Is Good Food. I had some ice cream, which was yum, and then Sparkle asked for some of the Jell-O I'd made my husband prepare last night in case I was put on clear liquids because of anesthetics or something, and that sounded really good. He dipped me up some, and oh, my goodness, it was the BEST JELL-O, ever! The simple things in life appear to mean so much. I'm sure that the drugs help me appreciate such things.
So, the operation was a success, and the doctor's assurances that I will have a full and quick recovery are a balm to my pre-operation nerves, and I will still be able to sign away to my heart's content, after my bandages come off.