|Pop Culture Gadabout|
Wednesday, January 31, 2007 |
( 1/31/2007 05:05:00 PM ) Bill S.
THE WAITING GAME – Went in this a.m. for Becky's scheduled surgery, a laparoscopic hysterectomy. We had to get up early to make it to the morning procedure: because my work insurance is a PPO and because my employer's office is an hour's drive from our house, we live "out of network." To keep from paying an obscene deductible, we consequently have to drive to Champaign for serious procedures. (Living on social services worker's level salary, we definitely have to be deliberate when it comes to medical costs.) Since check-in was scheduled for 6:30, we had to be out of the house by 5:30 a.m.
That wasn't as difficult as it sounds since neither of us slept very deeply the night before, anyway. Per everyone we knew who's had experience with the procedure, laparoscopy is a relatively non-invasive surgery – but it still is surgery. My wife was more restless than me, of course, but the best that either of us could manage were one hour bursts of half-sleep. We arrived at Provena Hospital five minutes later than we were told, but since we spent a half hour in the Surgery Waiting Room listening for them to call anybody's name, those five minutes didn't make much difference.
Becky's surgery itself lasted an hour: at 10:30, her doctor came in to tell me it went without a major hitch (a little more blood loss than like but nothing requiring a transfusion) and show me some inner workings photos, so I could see what had been removed. I know I blanched at the sight. My wife never ceases to be amused by the fact that this fan of over-the-top gore-laden horror flix is a wimp when it comes to looking at real-life medical procedures. Given the choice 'tween flesh-&-blood and artifice, I know which one I'll always pick. . .
Another two hours of waiting – reading R.O.D., watching The Price Is Right (gee, that Bob Barker is old), hitting the vending machine one too many times, agreeing with out-of-date Fareed Zakaria essays in month-old Newsweeks – until I was told Becky had finally been transferred to her room. It's always disconcerting to see someone you love hooked up to hospital machinery. But to my uneducated eyes, she looked good. Spent more time than she wanted me to, watching her drift in and out on the morphine drip, then I drove back home to let the animals out and phone family members. A long day for both of us, but mostly for her . . .
Now I'm off to take a nap before Bones and its forensic FX comes on.
UPDATE (2/1): We made it back from the hospital late Thursday. Becky's recovery was quicker than her doctor expected (she's done that kinda thing before), though it's gonna take some days before she fully recovers, of course – at this pint, just getting off the couch is a chore. As I type this, my resilient wife's resting back comfortably in the living room and phoning family to let 'em know how she's doing. And I'm feeling very relieved . . .