Diary of a Surgery: Pre-Op
Two weeks from my surgery date. Twelve years ago, thirty years of bad habits and a philosophy that I was invincible, I blew a disk out in my back. The first twinge came three or four days prior while helping my daughter look for some of her things in our storage building. I actually felt this twinge twice while doing this. Days later I was showering to get ready to go to work. The hot water felt good and made me feel that maybe everything was going to be okay. That thought lasted for less time than it took me to write it when the doozy of stabbing sharp pain came and literally dropped me to the floor. The next thirty days or so really are still a blur, but during this time I learned what nicotine does to the bone reproductive capabilities of your body, specifically your spine. I quit smoking on the spot and have been free of smoking for nearly thirteen years. Leap ahead to today and here I am facing surgery again and can only blame myself as I have paid very little attention to the protection of my back and the warnings of the first surgeon.
I’ve lifted, moved, strong-armed, and more or less done everything I could to put me right here today worrying about another surgery. One promising outcome expected with this procedure is that they plan to do what the insurance company wouldn’t allow thirteen years prior. This time, they seem resolved to believe the doctor and not fight the fusion process. I’m not going to lie; I’m scared of the unknown. I know some of the outcomes to expect like reduced flexibility and never lifting heavy weight again. Seems I was told this before, but I can assure you that I won’t have a third operation for this problem.
Which brings me to the purpose of this post. As I’ve said before, writing is a very cathartic process for me. It allows me to clear my mind of things that stay there too long. When I worked, my ability to void my mind was accomplished at work through conversation and although I, at times, had to be careful of what I said, it still allowed me to express my opinion and prevent the stewing process of thought. Starting with my pre-op day, I hope to express my daily thoughts, worries, and steps through this journey to a better back. These daily entries will be short, much like a dairy entry would be. However, I still plan to express my feelings adequately enough to help relieve my troubled worries. The first will be this post outlining the coming posts and sharing my pre-op appointment frustration. Check back and take this journey with me.
1/4/2024:
The day of my pre-op appointment at the facility that will be hosting my doctor and his staff and caring for me before, during, and immediately after my surgery, I arrived. The twenty-minute ride into town was mostly uneventful but reminded me why I was glad to be retired. Commuting was never my favorite thing, although it gave me time to resolve work issues before getting home. I arrived to a friendly smile and a clipboard to begin filling out details of my life in three short pages. Halfway through another friendly smile taking me to her office and asking questions that weren’t on the forms along with making copies of my driver license and insurance card. Released to another waiting room, I almost had the paperwork filled out when the nurse came and retrieved me so I could reassure myself I was overweight and had shrunk an inch since my last surgery. I joked that with the lift and separate hardware I was having installed that I may get the inch back. It kind of failed like a comic with an inappropriate joke, the room was silent. It was a joke folks, I’m nervous, give me a break. Into the cold room I was put giving up other vital statistics like blood pressure, pulse rate, and O2 level. Man, this is a friendly place, everyone smiles and wishes you the best. Next was the pre-op doctor to ask even more questions, while I still haven’t been able to complete the paperwork. Thinking back, I’m not sure I ever did finish and I hope those last few questions weren’t important to the outcome of success with my surgeon. The doctor determined through some obvious answers I must have given but I’m damned if I know what I said an EKG followed, when she says I need to go to another area of the hospital and take a stress test. Confused by what I said that precipitated this, I could only ask, “Right now?”. Yes, was the answer and they are waiting for you now, the nurse will take you there. Stammering ok, the nurse comes in and asks if I can make it across the facility or do I need a wheelchair? Dang dude, really? Yeah, I can make it I’m pretty sure and off we went.
I next met a male and female duo that seemed to be practicing for some comedy routine. I don’t think I’ve heard so many one-liners in a professional setting as I heard over the next 30 minutes. After a dry-shave on my chest using a razor that I hoped was new, I was hooked up to at least a hundred wires for monitoring or maybe it was twenty. I don’t remember as I was hustled through the process like a cow through a chute getting shots and branded along the way. I had to lay on my left side and breath in and out, hold my breath, repeat with half-breathes, and finally was told they had their baseline. Jumping on the treadmill, off I went on a walk attached to a machine by the wiring. Laughing to myself about only having to get my heartrate to 142bpm and thinking this won’t take long. After six minutes, a five percent grade and three-mile-an-hour pace, I finally hit the target. Thirty more seconds and then I was to lay down on my left side very fast so the straight man in this duo can capture your vitals while you’re breathing hard and your heartrate is up. Are you kidding me? It takes me two minutes to get in bed at home and you want me to jump off a treadmill onto a board of a table and lay still while you probe me like a lab experiment in a classroom? I was surprised at how fast I recovered my breathing and heartrate; I was told how great of a job I had done like it was surprising to them that I could walk across the room. As I hobbled to the car, all I could think about was how fast can I take a pain pill and muscle relaxer, and can I get home before they kick in? I survived step one of my journey, but it wasn’t getting off to the start I wanted, but everyone else seemed very happy including my personal nurses more commonly known as my wife and oldest daughter.
I have a couple of days before I start reducing my medications in advance of the surgery. Since the pre-operative day, I’ve finally started experiencing significant pain in my back. Really, although I know my back has been really messed up, I really hadn’t had any expected pain, although I have really weakened in my legs and lower body. What hurts the most is my shoulders, and I’m beginning to question the order of repair we have chosen for me over the next couple of years. Did that sound as bad as it did for me? Jeez, I really am on a long journey to feeling better. I’ll get healed just before going on Medicare, which if I was on now, this crap would all be at no out-of-pocket expense. I’m kind of worried about the cost, I wasn’t at first, but after leaving three messages with both the hospital financial consultants and with the surgeon’s office without any response, I feel they don’t want to scare me away and the delay tactic will ensure maximum anxiety following the procedure when I get the bill. No need to worry about it before then. But, buried in the paperwork that none of us reads, I found a small note with the procedure code and estimated costs. It’s what I paid for my first house! Holy crap Batman, I hope the insurance company has negotiated well and prevents me from selling off a large portion of stocks to pay for this damn thing. I’m sufficiently anxious now, thanks for the suspense.
Talk to you again on the 12th, the first day of not taking some of my medications. Should be interesting.