Had stomach surgery and, after four days, they finally let me go home last night. Of course, I feel like Dwayne Johnson punched me in the stomach (I wish), but at least I’m no longer hooked up to tubes. Actually, that’s not entirely true, I’m still hooked to one tube at least until Monday. I had hoped I’d never hear that in-out sucking of an oxygen generator again as long as I lived. I keep looking around for my mother—then I realize, oh crap! It’s me! It was unavoidable, but that is an experience I never want to repeat.
I don’t want to be indelicate here, but my Doctor is a Fecalphiliac. I swear it’s a real thing—look it up (I’m not going to explain it)—they have mugs and bumper stickers and everything. That was his first question each time he stopped by: “Have you?” “Do you think you will.” “When will you?” “Do you feel like you want to?” I was unimpressed by the fact that he was a Jewish surgeon and looked like a young Jonny Lee Miller—okay, maybe I was a little impressed. Anyway, there is a Jewish mother out there who is turning inside out with joy at life’s blessings.
Having said that, let me assure you, I am not a racist. But, what is it about Eastern Indian women that they must do everything in slow motion? It has to be a cultural thing because it was every Indian nurse or nurse’s aide I had—and that’s a lot over a four day period.
Nurse: “Okay, I’m giving you a shot now. Okay?”
Nurse in slo-mo holds up the small bottle of Heparin just above eye level, turning her wrist even more slowly counter-clock-wise. Holding her pinkie a few millimeters from the bottle, she stares at it for a full five seconds. [Count it out: it’s a long time. I swear she was waiting for me to take a pic.]
Nurse: “It will be in the stomach. Okay?”
Me: “Absolutely—go for it.”
Nurse in slo-mo uncaps the syringe and stares at it another five seconds as if she’d never seen one before in her life. [This is an RN folks.]
Nurse: “Which side do you want the shot in the stomach in?”
Me: “I don’t care. BTW, you’re starting to dangle.”
Nurse in slo-mo turns the bottle upside-down and pokes the syringe into the top, transferring the liquid to the syringe. She holds the syringe upside-down, then right-side-up. She taps it ever-so-gently with her index fingernail.
Nurse: “What does this mean I dangle?”
Me: “Nothing, I’m sorry I mentioned it.”
Nurse: “So, you don’t care which side? Okay?”
Me: “Either side is okay. Am I your only patient?”
Nurse: “No. I have many patients; why do you ask?”
Me: “Can I have my shot now, please? I just want my shot.”
Nurse: “There will be a little pinch. Is that okay?”
Me: “That’s perfect; I can’t wait. Do it; do it now.”
Nurse in slo-mo injects the right side of my stomach with the syringe. [I feel absolutely nothing! She is a wonderful nurse. She is Mother Teresa.]
Nurse: “I’m going to take your vitals now. Okay?”
Must stay on a clear liquid diet until Monday, then I see my doctor again (I have a wonderful report for him), and he will tell me if I can once more put cream in my coffee and when I can go back to work. All-in-all, life is good; I’m home and Preston is garage sale-ing. Perfect!