Medical Mike -- Part One -- Surgery

My husband is suffering from a disease he calls “Old Man Syndrome.”  He just turned 60 and, as he sees it, his parts are starting to wear out.  He hasn’t been in any bad car accidents, or had any on-the-job injuries, or any major slips and falls. (That’s my department.)  The latest thing to go out has been his back.

 I shouldn’t really say “the latest thing.”  His back troubles have been going on for some time.  Four years ago he was told he was going to have to have surgery, and it is only just now that he got it.  He had a fusion of a disc in his lower back – L3 to L4, I believe, for those who pay attention to such things.  This means (I think – I am not fluent in medicalese) they took away the bone that was falling apart, and replaced it with some metal mesh and a bone graft taken from his hip and screwed it to another bone for stability.  I know.  Ew.  Ew and Ow.

 The lead up to the surgery was typical Duff Family Frustrating.  My husband, being a combination of his own unique self and a stereotypical guy (not to be confused with a man – for further explanation of this phenomenon see Dave Barry’s Guide to Guys) was able to give me exactly no information before the surgery beyond, “I am having lower back surgery on June 30th.  Dr. Price is the surgeon.”  That’s it.  He couldn’t say what kind of surgery, nor specifically where in his back, what the recovery would be like, nor even what hospital it would be in.  In fact, the best we could do on our own was narrow it down to four different hospitals in three counties. 

 The week before the surgery, Mike decided to take one last hurrah of a fun trip before being laid up for a while, and went to St. Augustine with some of his oldest and dearest friends.  He still had no idea where or specifically when (morning, noon, or night) the surgery would be, or when he had to be where for pre-op.  I finally gave up, and drove over to the surgeon’s office.  They knew me there, because when I shattered my wrist last December due to my inability to stay upright while attempting to play a sport, and had to have a bionic wrist put in, I used the same orthopedic group.  I walked up to the front desk and announced, “Allegedly, my husband is having back surgery with Dr. Price on Monday.  He doesn’t know which hospital, what time, or when his pre-op is.  I’d like to know.”  I knew from experience that they have a little form that asks you if they can give your information to anyone else, and I knew that Mike would have given me permission, so I wasn’t worried about HIPPA. 

 After disappearing in the back for a moment, the wonderful, helpful lady out front gave me more information about my husband’s back surgery in two sentences than my husband had given me in several months.  We were going to be at St. Mary’s in the morning, and his pre-op was on Thursday.  I called him and informed him that he might want to come back from Florida in time.

 And so came the surgery.  I was unfortunately unable to attend the pre-op due to that day job thing I have to pay bills with (seriously, buy my book), and was required to rely on him for information.  He was either going to stay in the hospital one day, or two days, but whether that meant there were potentially one to three overnights, could not be said, at least by him.  He might go home that day. He might have to stay a few nights.  He might be able to walk around afterwards, or he might be completely immobile for a few weeks. 

 I usually pride myself on my ability to prepare for contingencies, but I admit I completely dropped the ball this go round.  I’m going to blame Mike for his lack of specific information going in, but that’s not really fair.  Knowing I didn’t know, I should have been prepared.  I guess I thought I would have more mobility.  I was prepared to wait during the surgery.  I brought a book, my Kindle in case I finished my book, two different computers (one that is a good workhorse for writing and one that is a great toy to play games on), a notebook and pencil, and a hank of yarn and two knitting needles.  I was Good to Go. 

 The surgical waiting room, however, was a complete disaster.  It was relatively small and was nearly standing room only, as people kept coming into the room and no one seemed to be leaving.  One family brought what seemed to be 25 relatives with them to grandpa’s surgery, which doubled as a family reunion.  There were two other couples, stereotypically nice, friendly southern folks, who had an incredibly polite (high volume) conversation for two hours about church camp, prior surgeries, and diabetes.  Another very large gentleman wearing short athletic shorts propped himself on the sofa across from the chair he was sitting in, leaned back at an angle so steep I thought he might have trouble getting back up, splayed his legs in a most unladylike fashion, and proceeded to try to sell computers from his cell phone in something that could not by any definition be called an “indoor voice.”  There were a smattering of other folks who kept to themselves, and a very kind lady who sat next to me working Sudoku puzzles and not bothering a soul except once an hour or so asking me to watch her stuff so she could use the restroom.  There was so much conflicting chatter, along with the yaddayaddayadda of the ubiquitous television set turned to a channel no one was watching, that the only thing I could concentrate well enough to do was to text my friends and write “To Do” lists in my notebook.

 Finally, the surgeon came out to tell me all had gone well.  All I could think was, “I can leave the room!  I can leave the room!”  (Oh yeah, and I was happy my husband’s surgery went well.)

 To be continued……………………………….

 Lori B. Duff is the author of the Amazon ‘Hot New Release’ Mismatched Shoes and Upside Down Pizza, a collection of autobiographical humor essays.  You can follow her on Twitter at @LoriBDuff and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/loribduffauthor