Last Thursday was my all my pre-op appointments, it was a very long and difficult day in all kinda ways. But I did have some pleasant surprises with people stepping up to make sure this hospitl visit is not as horrendous as the last.
When I met with Dr. SexyHands I was trying to joke around with him as usual but I was kinda, er, on edge. The resident had done a lenghty exam on me first (damn you teaching hopital!) and I kept getting progressively crazier until I was no longer making any sense whatsofuckingever. I told him I was sorry I was going all whackadoodle on him.
He was nice and was saying all the things one would expect a doctor to say when one is about to have one's spine taken apart with chisels and hammers. I kid you not--orthos are like some meticulously masterful carpenters. (Don't tell Dr. Sexyhands I said that, he might take it the wrong way.)
I popped an Ativan between doctors so when Dr. SH came bounding in I was not as bad, but I was still a hot mess. I was asking him specific things about my surgery so he was drawing a spine on the white paper that covers the exam table. As he was drawing I was dazzling him with my knowledge of anatomy, naming all the parts. When I pointed to the facet joints I said there's the facet joints but if you were drawing mine they would be gigantoid. So, he said yeah, your's would be like this and drew cartoonishly large facet joints and we laughed and laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.
In spite of all our giggling I was still obviously uptight, as in my head was about to explode. He was trying to reasssure me about the surgery and I told him it's not anxiety about the surgery that has put me on the CrazyTrain, that it's how awful I was treated the last time I was hospitalized at Stanford. I started babbling about it and had to just will myself to shut the fuck up already.
I told him that it had been a difficult decision--because I'd sworn I would never, ever be hospitalized in Stanford Hospital again unless I was unconscious and, therefore, had no say in the matter. But I told him I'd also sworn that if I ever had this surgery it had to be him doing it, that I really trusted him, had total confidence in him. But the problem is he only does surgery at that hospital.
In less polite conversations I'd called that quandry having to eat a shit sammich to get the surgeon. I decided I'd try for a less vulgar way of putting it so I said the first non-vulgar thing that came to mind, which was too bad becuase making vulgar analogies is when I bring my A game.
I said, its like, if I want to come to this dance with you I have to wear a REEEAAALLLY ugly dress. So, then he just looked at me with this funny look on his face and reached over and started writing something on my notes. He said here's my cell phone number, and said there was nothing he could do now about something that might or might not happen in the future but if something did happen, I should call him and he will personally get things straightened out.
I just about swooned with gratitude, and also because he looks really hot in shining armor. I also wanted to wave the number around while shouting "Suck it, bitches!" at the mean nurses I had before but who knows if Nurse Ratchet and Nurse DeVille even work there anymore. Hopefully, not, because you know how my luck goes.