Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Under the Knife, But Over the Fear

By Bob Wire, 8-20-08

A few final, frantic thoughts before I’m driven to the Surgery Center this morning:

• Why is it so damned important that I can’t have anything to drink six hours before surgery? I don’t mind the “no food after midnight” thing, because I normally stop snacking right after the local news anyway. But to ask a guy to face surgery without so much as a cup of coffee is just plain cruel.

• What if my surgeon operates on the wrong shoulder? Hey, it happens. Seems like it usually happens in Florida, but it happens. You remember that case in the Broward County Hospital there where they amputated the wrong leg on some poor Cuban guy? And to make matters worse, his lawsuit against the hospital was thrown out of court because, well, he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

I just went and got a Sharpie and wrote a big “NO” on my right shoulder.

• I’ll be butt naked under that gown, happily wasted on Versed during the operation. What if I, you know, feel so relaxed and happy that I pop a chubby on the operating table? It wouldn’t matter to me, of course. Plus, I guess they’d have somewhere to put their donuts.

• Do they charge extra for a sponge bath? How about a tongue bath?

• What kind of music will be piped into the operating theater? I’ll have to make sure that my doctor is not a fan of Toby Keith or Hank Jr. Oh wait, that’s impossible. To be a doctor you have to have at least an eighth grade education.

• Can’t I have just half a cup of coffee? Please?

• Are they going to shave my back? Are they going to shave my front? How much shaving is actually going to take place?

• When they introduce the knockout drops into the IV drip before wheeling me in to surgery, I know they’ll ask me to start counting backwards from 100. Has anyone ever made it even to 98? Why don’t they just say count backwards from one?

• They’re asking me to leave all my jewelry at home. I’m not much of a jewelry guy. So I took off my wedding ring, pulled the gold hoop out of my ear, and took off my watch. When I arrive an hour late, I’ll just say sorry, no watch. Didn’t think of THAT, did you?

• I hope that they bring me around in the recovery room by repeatedly slapping my face, and saying, “Come on, man! Snap out of it!”

• You know, I don’t think a couple of sips of coffee is really going to make a big difference, one way or another.

• What if I wake up and the only language I can speak is Esperanto?

• I sure hope the surgeon’s wife didn’t choose this morning to empty their joint checking account and run off with her personal trainer.

• Will they close the incision with stitches or staples? I know sometimes they use super glue. I suppose in Florida they use packing tape.

• What if the doctor looks at my right shoulder, where it says “ON,” and starts cutting there?

• I fear that my family will go several weeks without new toilet paper being put on the roller. I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who knows how to operate that mechanism.

• I hope there’s a big scar. Most people love nothing better than to hear someone describe their surgical procedure in great detail. It usually starts with “how’d you get that scar?”

Ah, what the hell. I’m mentally ready for this. Apprehension has been replaced by resolve, and the realization that this is the first step on the long road to complete recovery. It’s been a wonderful summer in Missoula, but I’ve spent most of it in chronic pain. It gets better starting today.

I’ll let y’all know how it goes. But you should brush up on your Esperanto just in case.

[Bookmark NewWest.net/BobWire to keep up with the drama.]

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