Partial Discectomy #2: Post-Op "Exam"
Four weeks after leaving the hospital I had an appointment for a post-op exam to make sure everything was going well. I left work a little early to make sure I got there on time but, as usual, left myself too much time. Even for me.
I drove around for a little while to kill time and eventually made my way to the hospital, parked my car, and then realized that, aside from the building itself, I had no clue specifically where this appointment was to take place. So I wandered hither and yon, finding nothing but elevators that went to places that needed a key card to get out of. Roaming the basement, unable to find an accessible elevator or stairwell, I asked someone where the offices I was looking for were. She just gaped at me, a little drool spilling onto her blouse, before declaring "I think it's on the fifth floor. If not there, then it's definitely on seven."
So off I went. I had to slip into an elevator behind a guy, this elevator only went to the first floor. So I got in a regular civilian elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. It soon became clear that this wasn't right either, so I got back into the elevator and only then realized that there wasn't even a seventh floor in the goddamn building. I tried six and lucked out, the office was right outside the elevator and I still had five minutes before my appointment. (Because I'm late if I'm not ten minutes early. I have issues.)
I checked in, found the least comfortable chair in their waiting room and proceeded to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
After an hour and a half, right when I was about to burn the building to the fucking ground, my name was called.
I followed the nurse (who apologized for the delay) into the exam room. She had the decency to load up all of my scans, both from the MRI in April, but also from January 2003 when I blew the first disc (L5/S1) so I spent some time reviewing these, comparing and contrasting. (The new scans are way cooler than the old ones!)
I spent a lot of time reviewing these (and the view from the window, and the magazines, and my navel) because they left me there for another forty-five minutes before Pinto's assistant showed up.
"How are you doing?"
"Pretty well, actually. I've been moving around like a human again, it's fun!"
"Is the pain in your leg gone?"
"It's not all the way gone. I'm starting to suspect my work chair* because I didn't have any real issue over the weekend and now [Tuesday] it's back."
"Ahh. Can I see the incision?"
"Of course."
She fiddled with my cut, wiggling a thing that she said was a stitch that was getting ready to come out and that we could encourage it if we desired. (I do not. Her tinkering with it made the site crazy for several hours afterward!) She said the incision was good I could feel free to do pretty much anything I felt up to in regards to getting it wet. (Oh how I wanted to be in a pool last weekend!)
Dr. Pinto himself poked his head in for, literally, long enough to ask "Is everything ok? Do you need me?" and accept my thanks and a handshake for his work before jetting off again.
"Well, other than that, you've done this before, you know the drill. No lifting, no twisting, that kind of thing."
We discussed a referral for PT and she wandered off for another five minutes or so. When she returned we discussed options and she hooked me up with a Sports Medicine PT that she couldn't recommend enough who should be able to get me back out in the world and in better shape. I'm excited because the person she recommended is big on running, which is something I've tried a number or times, always quitting because of catastrophic shin splints. (Like, I honestly thought I'd fractured both of my legs from trying to push through the pain.) I should probably call her...
So my "exam" took less than ten minutes. Maybe less than five. I had to pay for over two hours of parking for it. (The exam, at least, was free.) If they'd told me that I could have emailed a picture of the incision and done the "exam" that way, I would have. We literally spent almost as much time discussing how cool everyone on the OR thought my Medic Alert tat was as we did my current status.
* My work chair is a good quality chair that's still in pretty good shape. There are a million adjustments and I had it set to what (seemed to be) the best while I was injured. I'm currently exploring the many adjustment options to find the one that works best for now and things are looking better (but not quite 100% yet). If the chair really is a problem, yes, I will talk to HR about a new one. For now, there doesn't seem to be any good reason to have it replaced (yet).
I drove around for a little while to kill time and eventually made my way to the hospital, parked my car, and then realized that, aside from the building itself, I had no clue specifically where this appointment was to take place. So I wandered hither and yon, finding nothing but elevators that went to places that needed a key card to get out of. Roaming the basement, unable to find an accessible elevator or stairwell, I asked someone where the offices I was looking for were. She just gaped at me, a little drool spilling onto her blouse, before declaring "I think it's on the fifth floor. If not there, then it's definitely on seven."
So off I went. I had to slip into an elevator behind a guy, this elevator only went to the first floor. So I got in a regular civilian elevator and rode up to the fifth floor. It soon became clear that this wasn't right either, so I got back into the elevator and only then realized that there wasn't even a seventh floor in the goddamn building. I tried six and lucked out, the office was right outside the elevator and I still had five minutes before my appointment. (Because I'm late if I'm not ten minutes early. I have issues.)
I checked in, found the least comfortable chair in their waiting room and proceeded to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
After an hour and a half, right when I was about to burn the building to the fucking ground, my name was called.
I followed the nurse (who apologized for the delay) into the exam room. She had the decency to load up all of my scans, both from the MRI in April, but also from January 2003 when I blew the first disc (L5/S1) so I spent some time reviewing these, comparing and contrasting. (The new scans are way cooler than the old ones!)
I spent a lot of time reviewing these (and the view from the window, and the magazines, and my navel) because they left me there for another forty-five minutes before Pinto's assistant showed up.
"How are you doing?"
"Pretty well, actually. I've been moving around like a human again, it's fun!"
"Is the pain in your leg gone?"
"It's not all the way gone. I'm starting to suspect my work chair* because I didn't have any real issue over the weekend and now [Tuesday] it's back."
"Ahh. Can I see the incision?"
"Of course."
She fiddled with my cut, wiggling a thing that she said was a stitch that was getting ready to come out and that we could encourage it if we desired. (I do not. Her tinkering with it made the site crazy for several hours afterward!) She said the incision was good I could feel free to do pretty much anything I felt up to in regards to getting it wet. (Oh how I wanted to be in a pool last weekend!)
Dr. Pinto himself poked his head in for, literally, long enough to ask "Is everything ok? Do you need me?" and accept my thanks and a handshake for his work before jetting off again.
"Well, other than that, you've done this before, you know the drill. No lifting, no twisting, that kind of thing."
We discussed a referral for PT and she wandered off for another five minutes or so. When she returned we discussed options and she hooked me up with a Sports Medicine PT that she couldn't recommend enough who should be able to get me back out in the world and in better shape. I'm excited because the person she recommended is big on running, which is something I've tried a number or times, always quitting because of catastrophic shin splints. (Like, I honestly thought I'd fractured both of my legs from trying to push through the pain.) I should probably call her...
So my "exam" took less than ten minutes. Maybe less than five. I had to pay for over two hours of parking for it. (The exam, at least, was free.) If they'd told me that I could have emailed a picture of the incision and done the "exam" that way, I would have. We literally spent almost as much time discussing how cool everyone on the OR thought my Medic Alert tat was as we did my current status.
* My work chair is a good quality chair that's still in pretty good shape. There are a million adjustments and I had it set to what (seemed to be) the best while I was injured. I'm currently exploring the many adjustment options to find the one that works best for now and things are looking better (but not quite 100% yet). If the chair really is a problem, yes, I will talk to HR about a new one. For now, there doesn't seem to be any good reason to have it replaced (yet).