Doctor my eyes (thanks Jackson Browne)

By Pat Fule Random Thoughts

So, recently I had an operation to remove my gall bladder. To be honest, it was a big deal to me, as I’ve never had an operation before. And while I’m confessing (like a good Catholic guy), I should also tell you I’m not good with pain. When I was growing up, I always played quarterback in our pick-up football games. I learned early on that if I got rid of the ball quickly no one would tackle me. In fact, I’ve even asked my dentist if she’d consider sedation dentistry for check-ups, but she won’t. I was not looking forward to what this surgery would be.
I also have to admit that when I’m in very awkward situations, or where I’m really nervous, my first instinct is to lighten the mood and joke. This can be good or bad, depending on the situation. I’m not sure why my mind works the way it does, and both my kids swear that I’ve developed ADHD in my later adult years. Just before they wheeled me to the waiting area by the operating room, I asked if I could go to the bathroom. I guess the porter lady felt I should’ve already done this, but I figured I’d wait, so I wouldn’t have to “go” when I was in that room. With a deadpan face, she asked me, “are you able to ambulate?” I replied, “I could, if I knew what that meant.” (She did not laugh.)
So, I ambulated as fast as I could and the porter lady began to wheel me away, while Deb accompanied us (they really shouldn’t give this job to an old gal, or I really need to trim down). She wheezed the whole way down the hall, and I was going to ask if she needed to pull over and rest, but she probably would have dumped me from the gurney.
We were finally at the “holding area” and the surgeon came over. She actually recognized me from our summer consultation, but I could still feel the nervous fear take over.
“Please tell me you got a good night’s sleep last night,” I said. “You weren’t on some bender or clubbing, were you?”
She laughed (thank God) and said, “no, I was home and asleep early.” (Part of me also thinks that if I joke and the doctor is happy, he or she won’t let me die on the operating table.)
She and the anaesthesiologist peppered me with questions, and then the surgeon asked me if I have a history of falling. I said, “no, only from ladders.” (See earlier column on evil ladders.)
Then the anaesthesiologist told me something that stopped all my joking. She felt with my neck construction and apnea history, she should really insert the breathing tube while I was awake, and that she’d help freeze my mouth, tongue and throat (instantly, I felt my throat sweat again). I was suddenly super serious and listened to every word … no more jokes for me. That was the worst part of the operation, but she explained every step of the process and put me to sleep right after the tube was in.
Now this next part will either get a groan from some of you 19 readers, or I’ll get an “aw, how cute!” When the nurse was waking me after the surgery, I blurted out: “I have a very pretty wife!”
She came around to the other side of the gurney, and I guess I felt I had to make myself clear again: “I have a very pretty wife!” (This turned out to be better than after a colonoscopy, when I asked the nurse if she’d read me a story.)
They called Debbie down and told her of my romantic proclamation (I sure hope this makes up for my stupid engagement ring story 34 years ago, but only time will tell).
They wheeled me back up to the room (I guess the old porter lady retired) and I looked forward to a couple of hours of sleepy-time rest … then home. It’s funny after being put out, your body doesn’t quite work as well as you’d like. With the steady drip-drip of the IV and me drinking ice water, I had to go to the bathroom, but nothing was working. That’s when the nurse said a word that made me “serious up” like the breathing tube warning. She only had to say the word “catheter” and that maybe in two hours, they’d use that. I put my hand on her arm and said (in a shaky voice), that’s not going to happen. Luckily, the vast amounts of ice water and IV fluids worked, but they did keep me overnight, and I did get a lot of my steps in, shuffling to the bathroom all night.
So, that wraps up the story of how “Gord the gallbladder” had to be evicted from the “old Fule condo.” He was a crappy tenant, and he was causing a lot of trouble for this landlord. I’ve been poked, prodded, stuck with needles, had a tube shoved down my throat, but I’m back home and back to work. So, it’s been goodbye Gord, goodbye 50 shades of Grey’s Anatomy, and hello recliner and flat screen TV.
(Random Thoughts is a slice of life humorous column that appears in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, current mayor, husband, father and grandfather – Pat Fule. He is also a former town councillor, high school teacher and coach. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)