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Sunday, 12.30 am.
Dr Dagan silently appeared and, without saying a word, began wheeling me out of the room.
"Are we going to surgery?" I asked.
"Yes".
We had been waiting for my blood tests. That meant there had been some progress.
"Does that mean the blood tests are back? What did they say?" I wanted to know.
"Apparently".
This guy had clearly not heard of freedom of information. Or maybe I was just not qualified to know anything about what was happening to me.
My stretcher floated past a woman sitting on a bench in the corridor. She looked downcast.
"Hello" I said brightly. "Feeling a bit down?" She nodded. "I am off to surgery. Would you like to swap places with me? Please!" I said with a cheeky smile. Both the woman and the doctor laughed. (Yay, I got a smile out of the doctor ! Maybe he is human after all?)
I lay back and tried to take in my surroundings, to enjoy the ride. The ceiling and wall paintings passed me by as I levitated through a number of brightly lit, deserted corridors. The experience was exactly as it is portrayed in the movies.
Giving Birth
Dr Dagan silently appeared and, without saying a word, began wheeling me out of the room.
"Are we going to surgery?" I asked.
"Yes".
We had been waiting for my blood tests. That meant there had been some progress.
"Does that mean the blood tests are back? What did they say?" I wanted to know.
"Apparently".
This guy had clearly not heard of freedom of information. Or maybe I was just not qualified to know anything about what was happening to me.
My stretcher floated past a woman sitting on a bench in the corridor. She looked downcast.
"Hello" I said brightly. "Feeling a bit down?" She nodded. "I am off to surgery. Would you like to swap places with me? Please!" I said with a cheeky smile. Both the woman and the doctor laughed. (Yay, I got a smile out of the doctor ! Maybe he is human after all?)
I lay back and tried to take in my surroundings, to enjoy the ride. The ceiling and wall paintings passed me by as I levitated through a number of brightly lit, deserted corridors. The experience was exactly as it is portrayed in the movies.
Giving Birth
Eventually we reached the surgery department and the doctor gave my stretcher one last shove towards a type of empty lobby. The stretcher rolled a bit before coming to rest. I was alone, but not for long. A young man walked in, oblivious of me, speaking on his cellphone, summoning his parents to the hospital. He had just become a father to his firstborn son. I wished him mazal tov and we chatted a while.
"Have you got any cigars to hand out?" I asked. He shook his head, puzzled. Times certainly have changed.
"What about you?" he inquired.
"I am all excited" I responded. "I have had contractions for a few hours now, and I am hoping to give birth tonight to an appendix!" He giggled as his American parents came in, and I called over to them "Congratulations Grandpa and Grandma". They were all smiles.
Don't Steal My Stuff!
An orderly came by and saw my small shoulder bag.
"Damn, we have to call security!" he complained. Soon enough the security fellow came by and recorded all my belongings – including cash - on a deposit slip before taking my things away for storage while I was anaesthetized. I had not thought of it but was impressed by the procedure. He left my pants on the bed with me.
"What, you're not locking up my trousers? Better make sure the surgeon doesn’t steal them," I muttered in jest.
A Short Delay
The orderly dropped my medical file on top of me and disappeared. Alone, I took the opportunity to flick through it and make sure everything was in order. At first I felt like a sneaky schoolboy doing something naughty, but then decided I had a right to view my own records.
I defiantly held my file in my hands when the doctor appeared all scrubbed up.
"The operating room is busy, so our procedure has been postponed". I was not used to getting so much information out of him. With that I was transferred to the OR recovery room. In truth, I was philosophical about it all. I imagined myself on another journey, having just been informed that my plane was delayed. I love journeys and, with the right attitude, a stay in transit can be fun. So there I was, in transit again.
It's strange how, lying there, unable to sit up, I had no control over my immediate destiny. In a short while someone was going to stick needles in me, poison me with drugs, cut open my guts with a knife and play around with the machinery of my body, in the hope that it will heal itself from the wounds he will inflict. And all I could do was let these people have a go. It always makes me think of the guy who wanted to fix his watch and, after dismantling it into a million pieces, he managed to put it all together again, only to discover a piece left over. I just hoped the doctor would not leave out any bits that he shouldn't.
A lovely nurse called Bracha placed me in the corner of the dimly lit recovery room, only a few feet from a mother who was recovering from a C section. The surrounding silence was powerful, and I ruminated a few moments over the only audible sound – that grandest of all medical equipment, described by Monty Python as "the machine that goes 'ping!' It was 1am and, with Bracha's help, I managed to get hold of some paper to take notes. It was a real epiphany to discover that the OR recovery room after midnight is a great place to work quietly.
How Fickle is Fate?.
"Bracha, I gotta go to the toilet". Bracha swiftly approached and disconnected my IV tubes. Slowly, and bent over like an old man, I hobbled over to the bathroom with Bracha's help. She left me at the door. The right side of my abdomen was in excruciating pain. As I stood there, a thought flickered through my mind. How fickle is fate that only a few short weeks ago I was in the stunning rugged terrain of western China. And had my appendix played up then, I would probably be dead right now. I smiled at having cheated death. Why me? Why am I been lucky enough to be blasé about this whole situation, while others have not been so lucky? With great effort I managed to push the door open and return to my stretcher.
Happy Is As Happy Does
At about 2.00 am another orderly walked in and looked at me from across the dark room.
"Hi!" I greeted him cheerfully, my writing paper resting on a slightly raised knee. My happy demeanor caught his fancy.
"Wow, look at you, bright, awake, smiling! You have made my day. Now I am happy. Good on you son, I am so pleased with you". He raced over to shake my hand and I just had to laugh. I hid my notes inside my trouser pockets as I was wheeled out to the operating theatre by a smiling, friendly, elderly orderly. His happy face made me feel good.
Come On, Hit Me!.
The OR room was large and sterile, probably a good thing in this context. With great difficulty I slid off the stretcher onto the operating table, feeling like a piece of meat at the butchers. Everyone busied themselves, sharpening their knives. Everyone except the doctor, who sat uneasily on a chair in the corner, resting his chin on his hands, staring at the wall. I was going to tell him not to be so nervous because it was making me nervous, but it's not good policy to piss someone off when they are about to physically assault you. True, my signature on the consent form sanctioned the pending assault under the law, but it would be my loss if he exceeded his authority. I again recalled the appendectomy patient that came out circumcised. So I shut up.
A Horrifying Image.
A horrifying image of an anaesthetized bladder leaking over the operating table suddenly flashed through my mind.
"I think I should pee before surgery. Is that possible?" I got ready to hop off the table to go to the toilet when, from behind, the doctor handed me what looked like an enormous paper mache dildo.
"You do it here, now, on the table" he insisted coldly. I looked at the thing and knew I was in trouble. Nonetheless, I carefully positioned the accoutrement under the sheet and waited. Nothing.
"Sorry" I said to the orderly, handing back the surgical room accessory. He smiled at me warmly.
"It's okay, don't worry, it must be nerves. It’s hard to perform when you are anxious" he said, and I blushed like a nervous groom trying to apologise to his disappointed bride.
.
Good Night Sweet Prince.
A Russian anesthetist introduced herself to me before placing a mask over my face.
"It's only oxygen" she said, but I was not so sure. And before anyone had even told me to count backwards, the world just seemed to disappear…
"Have you got any cigars to hand out?" I asked. He shook his head, puzzled. Times certainly have changed.
"What about you?" he inquired.
"I am all excited" I responded. "I have had contractions for a few hours now, and I am hoping to give birth tonight to an appendix!" He giggled as his American parents came in, and I called over to them "Congratulations Grandpa and Grandma". They were all smiles.
Don't Steal My Stuff!
An orderly came by and saw my small shoulder bag.
"Damn, we have to call security!" he complained. Soon enough the security fellow came by and recorded all my belongings – including cash - on a deposit slip before taking my things away for storage while I was anaesthetized. I had not thought of it but was impressed by the procedure. He left my pants on the bed with me.
"What, you're not locking up my trousers? Better make sure the surgeon doesn’t steal them," I muttered in jest.
A Short Delay
The orderly dropped my medical file on top of me and disappeared. Alone, I took the opportunity to flick through it and make sure everything was in order. At first I felt like a sneaky schoolboy doing something naughty, but then decided I had a right to view my own records.
I defiantly held my file in my hands when the doctor appeared all scrubbed up.
"The operating room is busy, so our procedure has been postponed". I was not used to getting so much information out of him. With that I was transferred to the OR recovery room. In truth, I was philosophical about it all. I imagined myself on another journey, having just been informed that my plane was delayed. I love journeys and, with the right attitude, a stay in transit can be fun. So there I was, in transit again.
It's strange how, lying there, unable to sit up, I had no control over my immediate destiny. In a short while someone was going to stick needles in me, poison me with drugs, cut open my guts with a knife and play around with the machinery of my body, in the hope that it will heal itself from the wounds he will inflict. And all I could do was let these people have a go. It always makes me think of the guy who wanted to fix his watch and, after dismantling it into a million pieces, he managed to put it all together again, only to discover a piece left over. I just hoped the doctor would not leave out any bits that he shouldn't.
A lovely nurse called Bracha placed me in the corner of the dimly lit recovery room, only a few feet from a mother who was recovering from a C section. The surrounding silence was powerful, and I ruminated a few moments over the only audible sound – that grandest of all medical equipment, described by Monty Python as "the machine that goes 'ping!' It was 1am and, with Bracha's help, I managed to get hold of some paper to take notes. It was a real epiphany to discover that the OR recovery room after midnight is a great place to work quietly.
How Fickle is Fate?.
"Bracha, I gotta go to the toilet". Bracha swiftly approached and disconnected my IV tubes. Slowly, and bent over like an old man, I hobbled over to the bathroom with Bracha's help. She left me at the door. The right side of my abdomen was in excruciating pain. As I stood there, a thought flickered through my mind. How fickle is fate that only a few short weeks ago I was in the stunning rugged terrain of western China. And had my appendix played up then, I would probably be dead right now. I smiled at having cheated death. Why me? Why am I been lucky enough to be blasé about this whole situation, while others have not been so lucky? With great effort I managed to push the door open and return to my stretcher.
Happy Is As Happy Does
At about 2.00 am another orderly walked in and looked at me from across the dark room.
"Hi!" I greeted him cheerfully, my writing paper resting on a slightly raised knee. My happy demeanor caught his fancy.
"Wow, look at you, bright, awake, smiling! You have made my day. Now I am happy. Good on you son, I am so pleased with you". He raced over to shake my hand and I just had to laugh. I hid my notes inside my trouser pockets as I was wheeled out to the operating theatre by a smiling, friendly, elderly orderly. His happy face made me feel good.
Come On, Hit Me!.
The OR room was large and sterile, probably a good thing in this context. With great difficulty I slid off the stretcher onto the operating table, feeling like a piece of meat at the butchers. Everyone busied themselves, sharpening their knives. Everyone except the doctor, who sat uneasily on a chair in the corner, resting his chin on his hands, staring at the wall. I was going to tell him not to be so nervous because it was making me nervous, but it's not good policy to piss someone off when they are about to physically assault you. True, my signature on the consent form sanctioned the pending assault under the law, but it would be my loss if he exceeded his authority. I again recalled the appendectomy patient that came out circumcised. So I shut up.
A Horrifying Image.
A horrifying image of an anaesthetized bladder leaking over the operating table suddenly flashed through my mind.
"I think I should pee before surgery. Is that possible?" I got ready to hop off the table to go to the toilet when, from behind, the doctor handed me what looked like an enormous paper mache dildo.
"You do it here, now, on the table" he insisted coldly. I looked at the thing and knew I was in trouble. Nonetheless, I carefully positioned the accoutrement under the sheet and waited. Nothing.
"Sorry" I said to the orderly, handing back the surgical room accessory. He smiled at me warmly.
"It's okay, don't worry, it must be nerves. It’s hard to perform when you are anxious" he said, and I blushed like a nervous groom trying to apologise to his disappointed bride.
.
Good Night Sweet Prince.
A Russian anesthetist introduced herself to me before placing a mask over my face.
"It's only oxygen" she said, but I was not so sure. And before anyone had even told me to count backwards, the world just seemed to disappear…
.
.
1 comment:
a little bedside manner goes a long way. so sad how rare it is to find in our hospitals...
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