Fall                                                                         Harvest Moon

Drove into the city yesterday to Abbott-Northwestern Hospital.  Checked in and had to add, along with my name and date, the time to several spots on various pieces of paper.

After a brief wait, I went to the area for ritual preparation of the sacrifice, removed all my real world clothes and exchanged them for a purple garment made of paper.  Many people asked my name several times, my surgeon, Dawn Johnson, came and autographed my groin.  A nurse anesthetist found a big vein, asked if she could use it and I said sure.

The IV went in there.  Then, the first of the Versid.  It could better be named Lethe after the river of forgetfullness that flows through Hades for that’s its function.  I saw the operating theater.  Felt them lay my arms out in a cruciform manner.  “Just like an execution,” I said.  “Oh, no.  I don’t think so,” a nurse said.  It was, though.

There was a large tray with many sharp instruments, a number of tables and screens and such that looked as if they stayed there between operations, waiting for some future use.  Above me were two lights with mica like scales, I assume to give even, penetrating light.

There were scratch marks on the giant arms that held the lights.

Then, I woke up as my gurney careened (to me) down the hall passing light after light, door after door, the sacrifice already given and I missed the whole thing.  Forgot it.

In the recovery room my nurse’s name was Helen, whose face launched a thousand ships.  My consciousness danced in and out, opening the screen, then closing it.  Kate came back and I was very glad to see her.

By 2:30 pm we were in the Rav4 and headed back to Andover.  We drove in, something happened of which I have no memory, only wounds and we returned to our house.

Where, since then, I have been in the care of nurse, nurse anesthetist, pediatrician and after hours physician, Kate.  It’s been good to be in her ward.

Now, with the aid of Vicodin, I ride through the adaptations my body must make to this insult.  But, an insult with a purpose.  The hernia repaired and a mesh installed.  Or, so they tell me.

Fall                                                        Harvest Moon

Oh, boy.  Dental hygiene appointment this morning.  Met Stacey at Metro Dental. My first time there.  We switched from Centennial Dental in Edina this summer after Kate retired.  Going to this outfit, which is in a small open plan mall near Round Lake and Highway 10, knocks about an hour + off the trip and visit time.  Much better.

Though there is a difference.  In the waiting room at Centennial I felt young.  The canes, blue hair and walkers of the morning appointment crowd reflect, I’m sure, the location nearby of more than one senior retirement center.  Here in Anoka the lobby had toddlers, teen-agers and young adults.  Mostly.

Another difference.  Country music played lightly in the background.  Centennial had Bach and Mozart, that sort of thing.  I’m happier with the classical music, but for an hour, I can deal.

Now I have to go back in November and have one tooth, a problem root canal on my lower set, planed and scaled.  Sounds like something to be done in a woodshop then passed over to the fish cleaner.  The hygienist mentioned a cavitronic.  I assume it cavitates, but it sounds pretty close to cavity. Still, I trust they’re not in the business of promoting cavities.

(cavitron)

Dr. Lugo, the dentist who examined me, looked like he might be old enough for a Big Wheel, but in spite of that he seemed to know what he was doing.

This was the kickoff to a medical week for me with the hernia repair coming on Thursday.  Big fun.

Lugnasa                                               Hiroshima Moon

Into the Midway Doctor’s Building this morning for a surgical consult.  A hernia needs repair.  Not very exotic, not carrying dire warnings, but significant nonetheless.  Hernia’s are common.  Common enough for hernia repair to be the most common surgical procedure in the US.  Who knew?

Dawn Johnson, in her early 40’s, has practiced for 20 years.  She had the brisk, almost brusque, approach Kate says means professional.  We chatted briefly. she examined me (with no wine before hand) and said that, yes, surgery would fix it.  Would I prefer laparoscopy or open?

Faced with a menu of only two choices I chose the one that did not require a general anesthetic.  Open.  Well, there were other reasons, too.  It seemed to fit my situation and it has the additional virtue of being frequently performed, a known quantity.  I’m very conservative when it comes to things medical.  No experiments on this body except as a last ditch effort.  Tried and true, efficacious and low risk.  That’s what I want.

So, on September 28th, I’ll go to Abbott and Kate will drive me home the same day.  Key consideration in the date was the requirement that I not lift anything over 30 pounds for 30 days.  Hive boxes full weigh around 50.  Couldn’t do this surgery until the bee season has calmed down.