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You say “laparotomy” one more time and I’ll rip YOUR guts out…. Ver 2.7851493647

December 22nd, 2008

Well, as we all know, all good things must come to an end.
On Saturday, December 20, in the Year of My Empire, 2008, I finally really did blow my main gasket.

No, REALLY!!!! My main gasket really did let go!!!

Seems that on the 18th I coughed a bit hard without first pushing in on my umbilical hernia. Usually not a big deal.

This time it was a big deal.

A big deal as in the Louisiana Purchase for $15 million (The Louisiana Purchase encompassed portions of 15 current U.S. states and 2 Canadian Provinces. The land purchased contained all of present-day Arkansas, Missouri, Iowa, Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska, parts of Minnesota that were south of the Mississippi River, most of North Dakota, nearly all of South Dakota, northeastern New Mexico, northern Texas, the portions of Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado east of the Continental Divide, and Louisiana west of the Mississippi River, including the city of New Orleans.[From Wikapedia]) Or the purchase of Alaska, all 586,412 square miles of it, for 2 cents an acre.

That kind of a big deal.

“Owwy” I said as I went on with my work…

Friday morning it has gone from mere “Owwy” to “Man! This thing is really hurting…” and on to “Uh, hey Boss, I am going home to die now, I’ll see you on Monday.” Then noting that “hey laying in this tub of scalding water is not helping,” I proceeded to tighten the abdominal binder that has held my guts in place for the last 2.5 years and proceed to try and walk it off – clear over to my MASSIVE RECLINER where the reward for my efforts is in taking a nice long nap.

When I wake up a few hours later I am feeling somewhat better until it comes time to take a leak. It is at this point that I think “Uh OH!!” and proceed to scream a dainty little scream of pain and then cry.

A lot.

Bladder empty, it’s back to the safety of the recliner once again.

Saturday morning rolls around and it feels like Sigourney Weaver’s Alien is trying to make its appearance right above my belly button. At 4am I am whisked off to the Emergency Room where the prognosis is Emergency Surgery. This involves needles, drugs, more needles, some scalpels, more needles, more drugs and the tune from the Wizard of OZ running through my fogged up head. (Snip Snip here, snip snip there and a couple of tra-la-las. That’s how we cut the Flub away in the wonderful Land of Oz…).

Thank God The Princess is tending to me during this time otherwise there would be death, destruction, blood, guts and feathers all over the place…

Anyway, we get to the ER and give all the pertinent information to the intake personnel. Sent off to an exam room for (what else) an exam I am confounded by the 3 great mysteries of the medical profession:

1. Ya gotta wonder what they are thinking when they put a glass tube full of deadly poison in you mouth and then ask you questions while reminding you not to bite down on the poisonous tube!!!

2. Then there is that instrument of torture they call the blood pressure cuff. Tell ya what, instead of trying to pinch my arm completely off and then not believing that a fat old man like me can have blood pressure lower than yours, just cut the damn thing off at the shoulder and screw on a couple of A/C gauges and read it that way…

3. Where the hell do these people find the micro-miniature refrigerators they store that little silver disk in to tell them “By God, I did nearly stop his heart!! Here, I’ll see if I can do it again over here…”

So seeing that, yes, I am actually alive, breathing and (YES!!) have a valid insurance card from an insurance company that has not liquidated all their office furniture in a “Total Liquidation Blow-out Sale!!!” they decide that poking me with needles is a good next step.

Interlude

As everyone knows, I hate needles…especially the ones that other people try and poke into my body. I have been known to warn Doctors, Nurses and others within tranquilizer dart range that “this sort of behavior will not be tolerated”, “Trespassers will be shot, Survivors will be shot again”, “My blood needs to stay where it is to do me any good”, and the good old stand by “If you ‘MISS’ I fucking well guarantee I sure won’t!!!!!”

Did I ever mention the time a pair of orderlies were severely injured to the point where they ended up giving more blood than I did? Once upon a time, in an ER far far away…

Nurse Julie, (God Bless her little heart) started an IV in my right arm and was extremely competent and professional and also a 48th degree Black Belt in Tae Kwon Do. In other words: There were no complications, pain and/or suffering and only one blow to my carotid artery was required to get me to settle down …

Metrosexual Nurse “Butch”, however, was a different matter…

While not only did I not like this guy as soon as he stepped into the room, he violated one of my few rules regarding the medical profession: DO NOT -UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES- TELL ME HOW GREAT YOU ARE WITH A NEEDLE AND THEN BLOW UP ONE OF MY VEINS!!

Inlieu of flowers, “Butch’s” family requests that a donation be made to The Gene Pool Chlorination Institute.

I should have known better when my “FEWS” (Fairy Early Warning System) started to illuminate. [While I could care less about your sexual preferences, being a Fairy is not in the same league as being gay. The difference to me is as blatant as my love for nibbling on The Princess’ ear vs. say, cannibalism…] This guy is on one hand singing “I feel Pretty” and then telling us he is happily married.

To a woman.

Yeah.

Right.

After the good news of needing surgery is delivered, this moron is busy looking at all his options for starting a second IV. Settling on his tools of choice he tourniquets my left arm and proceeds to “thump” around looking a “good” vein. I remind him AGAIN that he is in very dangerous water. He sniffs disdainfully and says the fatal words:

“I can’t believe a big guy like you is afraid of needles…”

“You know I am right handed,” I mention softly.

“So?”

“I am 99.99% accurate when swinging my right fist to my left side to deflate the egos of little assholes playing God with needles and my blood.”

“Troy!!!” The Princess sees what is coming and moves to contain the fire before it rages out of control. Getting up, she hurries over to grab my right arm as it lowers itself to the LOCKED AND LOADED position before beginning its firing sequence.

While I am distracted, Nurse “Butch” decides to attack. He is already congratulating himself and starting to call me a baby when the vein he double pierced EXPLODES AND THE NEEDLE JUMPS CLEAR OF THE BLAST AND ONTO THE FLOOR!!!

Time slowed down at this point.

I remember him saying (I swear to God he actually said this) “Your veins don’t like me…”

Currently the DA is still investigating, Bill Curtis wants to know “Why??”, 20-20 and 60 Minutes are waiting for the coroner’s report before airing and Sun City Banner Health (the hospital’s owner/operator) has decided to waive the “assault with intent” charges because it was a slow night and they needed the work in the ER to make this month’s numbers look good…

Anyway…

The process, as it happened, from the point where I actually flop onto the surgical table to the point where a beautiful voice is telling me “Troy. Troy!! It’s all done. You’re going to be fine. How do you feel…?” has, decidedly, many peaks and valleys of recollection.

I, for instance, recognize that there was a Middle Eastern or possibly Central Asian man who insisted that my moustache had to go as he did not want to “pipe” me and instead wished to use the silicone mask for both the anesthetic and to control my respiration during surgery. So off with the ‘stache!!!

The rest of this story is rather dull right up to the point where they gave me a defective gown that had torn shoulder and back straps, was too short, etc etc… These things are the kind of things that I have found, well, they just do not phase me anymore and I have decided instead that I am going to use these instances as an assault against THE MAN. Because, lets face it, everyone thinks I am absolutely nuts and if I don’t give ‘em a taste every once in a while then they may begin to suspect that I am actually normal. This can not be allowed to happen!!!

And so it came to pass that on a very early Sunday morning, having been given my intra-venous cocktail of happiness for the night, I found myself looking at my fun little bedpan and decided, with a very familiar chuckle from the voices in my head, that is was time for a trip to the head. The voices, which somehow I had always known were there, off in the background, rose to a crescendo:

Engine Room, prepare to answer. Officer of the Bladder, prepare to release cargo!! ALL HANDS, ARMS, LEGS, ETC, NOW HEAR THS!!!! Prepare for urination and getting underway. Clear all lines, Full Speed Ahead!!!!!!!

And to the tune of John Phillip Sousa’s Washington Post echoing through my cavernous brain pan I extricated myself from my entrapment of monitors, blankets, TV remote controls, LifeAlert buttons and diaper (!!!!) I stealthily made my way, giggling, to the john and SWEET BABY JESUS!! It felt like I must have released more water than all the waters held back by the Aswan Dam!!!!

After begging pardon of the IV stand that I bumped into, I decided that I should follow nurse “Christy’s” advice and “move around” somewhat. I headed straight for the door of the room I was temporarily contained to and, with out further ado, tottered out to the nurse’s station seeking adventure and new people to irritate.

It was at this point that I decided that somehow the shreds of fabric that was not really doing anything except flutter behind me like a cape, was an adequate salute to the moral code of modesty. That is to say, I was quite naked with basically a shawl around my shoulders.

And thus, giggling quite madly, I led 3 nurses on a slow speed chase though the surgical ward. To my down fall I did not notice they had left 2 nurses as a blocking force at the other end of the ward. I realized my fate almost too late. It was then, that cutting through the nurse’s station on a flanking maneuver, that I saw nurse “Anna” giving me her come hither look over the chart of my room mate. Slowing and pulling alongside I asked her if she came here often.

“You need to go to bed!!” she said in her breathy tones. Her mouth said bed but her eyes said heaven…

Replying evenly so I would not appear too eager, I said “I’ll meet you there, don’t be long…” and blowing her a kiss I was then netted and tranquilized after a short chase. I was then unceremoniously carried off to bed and my IV was modified to increase my chances at being made stationary.

I finally escaped confinement and was paroled that afternoon. I now am sporting a long incision held together with Scotch Brand Transparent tape (no stitches) and in a rather good deal of pain being held in abeyance large amounts of Percocet. I will be out of work for a minimum of 6 weeks and hope to God this is the end of my hernia problems…

BTW, remind me to write the hospital and apologize for the destruction and mayhen caused by my stay. I now also realize the nursing staff can not be paid enough to put up with me and should all be awarded Carnegie Medals for Heroism…

Troy Family

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Sarah

December 22nd, 2008 at 18:59 | #1

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OMG Dad! Are you okay? I mean Cecily called me to let me know what happened and all but are ya gonna be okay for the next few weeks? Trying to plan a mini-roadtrip to check in on ya and bring some lemon bars and *oontraband* (smokes, milky way candies,etc) for you while you recover. PLEASE take care of yourself.

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You say “laparotomy” one more time and I’ll rip YOUR guts out…. Ver 2.7851493647

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