In the past when I’ve taught my Audio Technology 101 class, a favorite paper topic for the physics/audio tech/science majors is Extracorporeal Shockwave Lithotripsy (ESWL). They really like to write about what can go wrong with the procedure. As you can imagine, this didn’t help my state of mind yesterday. Neither did the fact that the anesthesiologist needed to change the plan to accommodate my other health issues so I couldn’t receive any sedation until I was in the O.R. and wired to every machine in the universe. I’m pretty sure someone was using my brainwaves to charge their ipod.

I survived, but damn do I need more painkillers. We won’t know if it really worked for quite a while, but at least I have new things to complain about. I do know they crushed up the stone (which was 1.3 cm) enough that it’s no longer big enough to make a necklace out of, which is almost disappointing. (I’m completely kidding. That’s not even funny).

John, my nurse, felt bad I had to be alert in pre-op so he gave me a hot pink IV port to cheer me up. That was nice. The anesthesiologist held my hand from pre-op until he put me under, which sounds creepy, but really wasn’t. I don’t think.

Later maybe I’ll have Rania take pictures of my bruises. I have all these lacerations, too, because I’m clearly such a delicate flower. Again, something new to complain about.

I’ve been too out of it to watch any of the DNC hooha, and we had a power outage so Overlord didn’t record any of it for me. That’s ok. That’s why we have the Internets. I’m much happier laying in bed catching up on back issues of Runner’s World, anyway. I figure reading about running is almost as good as running. And much better than running for office.

Jason, my surgeon, has promised they’ll be putting me under as soon as I arrive at the hospital next week, which makes me think that John, my nurse, is going to be hiding behind a door with a syringe waiting for me, kinda like Dexter. Or maybe out on a roof with a dart gun, sniper-style. Shots don’t bother me anymore, so I’m actually ok with that. Plus, then I don’t have to do any paperwork. I don’t think that’s how it’s going to happen, though, unfortunately.

Since when do surgeons and anesthesiologists and nurses introduce themselves like they’re going to hand you a basket of bread and recite the night’s specials? I feel like I’m going to be having surgery at a casual elegant restaurant. Come to think of it, John, my nurse, and I did go over the chemical sedation menu…

“Chemical sedation” – that makes it sound like there’s a “manual sedation” option, wherein they hit you over the head with a mallet or smother you with a pillow. Husband speculates that there’s also a mechanical sedation option – perhaps a Rube Goldberg-type contraption, or something along the lines of Darth Vader’s interrogation robot on the Death Star. I am scheduled for robotic surgery, so that actually makes sense. Or maybe I need to cut back on the painkillers. Or maybe I’m the robot. Is there something my parents didn’t tell me?

But I digress…

I spend a lot of time critiquing the outmoded, patronizing, paternalistic attitudes of too many doctors in this area. At the same time, I’m conflicted, because the informal nature of some doctors also weirds me out. I’ve encountered some HMOs where they don’t seem to grasp that there’s a difference between being “partners in healthcare” and speed-dating. And let me tell you, those “relationships” haven’t lasted any longer than the ones with the old guys who’ve patted me on the head and, talking past me, advised Husband to send me to the Caribbean for a few weeks for some “quiet time.” (True fucking story)

I don’t wish to sound mocking about my current doctors, these folks are supposed to be among the very best at what they do, and they really have been professional, efficient, attentive. (I have damned good insurance, it would appear).

Plus, John, my nurse, has spent a very lengthy amount of time on the phone soothing me. He might be lying through his teeth to me about how “our time together” will go, but that’s ok with me right now. The guy who’s in charge of putting my IV line in understands that if he doesn’t shoot my hand with sufficient novocain, he’ll be pulling back a bloody stump. We’re going to get along just fine. I think Jason, my surgeon, has an extra incentive to get this right the first time around because he’s got to be pretty tired of my sorry, semi-hysterical hide by now.

And I say “the first time” not for comic effect but because this is all, now that I think about it, more like dealing with a Chinese carryout menu than dining at a nouveau fusion small plate restaurent. I know which of 4 surgeries we’re choosing from, and I understand the risks and recovery times to all of them, plus which anesthesia options are possible with which surgery. The range in recovery times is 3 days to 6 months. I know which procedure we’re starting with. What I won’t know until Tuesday is which other surgeries I’ll actually be having in the next days or weeks, because no one knows yet just how complicated my case is, until they do the first surgery.

So, um, that’s fun. For Jason, my surgeon, it will be fun. Jason, my surgeon, “only takes the challenging, interesting and complicated cases,” Good for Jason, my surgeon. I didn’t expect to be poached, I thought I would be having my innards re-arranged by John, my (former) surgeon. Do these guys sneak through each others files at night? How does this happen? Did John, my surgeon, lose me to Jason, my surgeon, in a poker game? Did they wager me on the fairway?

When you get down to brass tacks, I don’t like being challenging, complicated nor interesting. I like my innards to be boring, thanks. Speaking of boring, if you’re deprived of sedatives, I highly recommend Space 1999. It’s painfully dull. Fans claim the dialogue is clever, but I couldn’t hear it over Husband’s snoring. Come to think of it, Space 1999 might be an effective form of manual sedation. I can’t have any sedatives for a few days before the surgery because of some anesthesia issues. Aren’t you glad you aren’t Husband? He’s got a long couple of days ahead of him, unless he’s still got the DVDs of Space 1999.