Papa Was a Rolling Stone 5/16/06

(Names have been changed to protect anonymity)

I have fancied myself quite a healthy sort, especially in the last few years. Perusing through my AARP newsletter each month I began to feel grateful as I read about some other 50 somethings who were already taking blood pressure medicine or challenged with serious health concerns. My strong legs had taken me through 23 marathons, many more half marathons and countless shorter road races. I have visions of a trophy room filled with medals, plaques and race numbers each an example of years of participation in this sport. The trick is to outlive the competition which truthfully is the only way this slow but steady chick will place in her age group!

So… how did I find myself at the local medical center, checking into the same-day-surgery ward preparing for a state of the art lithotripsy procedure? I dubbed it Star Wars surgery as I visualized the laser beams preparing to blast a ¾ inch kidney stone that had taken residence in my left kidney to smithereens. Up until 2 months ago, I didn’t even know I HAD this kidney stone until a catscan was performed and there was the not-so-little sucker, pictured on the x-ray, clear as day.

If this wasn’t enough excitement, on the day of the procedure, I also had a right ear that needed some immediate attention. During my routine Tuesday morning run, I tripped on the Seal Beach river channel path and tumbled into a sidewalk laced with ice plant. I landed on my right shoulder and finally came to a halt after my right ear and cheek hit the pavement. Stunned, scared and disheveled, I took my running buddy’s arm, hobbled upright and started to walk on home. She got a good look at my ear and guessed I might need a few stitches. Well, lucky me, I mused, I’ll be at the hospital all day anyway. Surely I can have this taken care of in one fell swoop.

The body has an amazing mechanism called SHOCK. As I dallied home, while walking Callie and looking for some sign that someone or something was watching over me, I saw my neighbor running with his Jack Russell terrier. My brain exclaimed, Show him your ear, he’s a doctor but alas no sound came out of my mouth. In a split second I talked myself out of sharing my predicament and watched him run on. I’ll tell the nurses at the medical center, they’ll fix me up.

Once home, I sheepishly glimpsed at my ear and cringed ever so slightly at the sight. I took a bath, washed my hair and cleaned the area with alcohol and q-tips the very best I could, willing myself not to pass out from the thought of it all. Some nurse I’d make. I hurt, my ear ached, my shoulder was throbbing so I lay down on ice hoping to prevent more swelling and bruising. My friend Jane arrived and together we read over some of my affirmations for the day ahead. My kidney stone quickly and easily dissolves, passes effortlessly and rapidly with little or no notice from me at all and Every hand that touches me in the hospital is a healing hand and expresses only love. My favorite was I AM imagining Love and Light flowing from my own heart down through my arms and into my hands. I place my hands over the part that is healing and say I LOVE YOU AND I AM HELPING YOU GET WELL. I wished that morning I had written something about staying upright, sure-footed and aware of my surroundings.

As we drove to the hospital, I recalled the day almost 26 years ago when I came there for a very different reason. My first born son was birthed in one of those clean, cheery (if sterile) and sunny rooms. One major remodel later, I would barely recognize the entrance or any of the many hallways or rooms I passed on the way to my same-day-surgery wing. Nurses Candie and Myra greeted me and showed me to the first of many curtained areas that I would call home for the day. I was handed the loveliest of hospital garb which included booties, the standard gown as well as 2 white blankets. I showed Myra my ear and shoulder and mentioned half jokingly that I sure hope if I need stitches, that they can do it while I am under anesthesia. She said to show my doctor and anesthesiologist later in the morning.

Once Myra was done taking all my pertinent information (name, address, was I depressed, what is my religious prevalence) I was left alone for a good half hour, doomed to get comfortable on the hospital bed. Oh, how I wanted one of those firm, high massage table bolsters that gets placed under my knees during Swedish massages. My right side was achy and I could barely lift my right arm or hip to get situated. I fashioned an extra pillow into a knee support which helped some.

So here we were, the motley crew of City Medical Center. My two ‘neighbors’ were being prepped for their procedures. The lady I had briefly chatted with prior to check-in was having a 2 hour hand surgery to re-attach and strengthen a couple of tendons on her right hand. I watched the twenty-something gentleman to my left lift himself from his wheelchair and gingerly raise up his right leg onto his bed. He had stepped on a needle that now needed removal. And then there was me, with my rather useless right side and unattended blood-crusted right ear pondering the ¾ inch stone floating in my left kidney. Its days are numbered. Hey, I was grateful to be me right then. I knew that my guardian angels Lilly and Lorraine were in my room watching every last detail. Did those two neighbors of mine have a Lilly and Lorraine tending to their needs? I started to laugh and wondered what mental ward would now admit me once they heard I have these fairies surrounding my hospital bedroom.

The OR was busier than usual and my appointed time came and went. At 1:20PM a handsome young black orderly finally rolled me to my next station. We chatted a bit as I noticed the halls were a maze of machines, laundry bins, wheel chairs and hospital paraphernalia. I kept wondering where their storage closet or room was. No wonder I am a professional organizer, something like this really bugs me. It looked like someone had simply delivered these items and plopped them in the hallway for good measure. I hoped my kind orderly would not bump my moving bed into a laundry bin causing an avalanche of clothes, blankets and such, burying me for good.

My next stop was the pre-op room, another holding area where I would meet my anesthesiologist and see my urologist, Dr. Highbridge (can you resist that name?). I immediately informed the 2 pre-op nurses about my ear and shoulder situation. One of the gals said, “Oh, we can’t clean that, liability you know.” The other nurse shared her (limiting) belief about 55 year olds and rollerblades. I looked at her with a rather incredulous look on my face and began my defense with I’m a marathon runner, I grew up skating both on ice and the street blablabla but I stopped myself mid-sentence and asked when they could pipe in some Beatles music instead.

My anesthesiologist was a fairly serious fellow, short on words and bedside manner. I told him about my shoulder and he wanted to know if I wanted it x-rayed. I said No, but I would like you to look at my ear. He asked me if I was in any pain and I said Yes, I am pretty sore. Next thing you know the sedative Versed was administered and I entered into my-shoulder-still-hurts-but-I-no-longer-care land. Since my request for the Beatles was denied, I started humming to myself, going from album to album. I didn’t get very far as the Versed took over my brain. Ah well, my time in Pre-op ended and I was rolled into yet another room. It’s showtime.

Now I am in the OR so the first question I asked of my doctors was about the stereo system. Hey, I’ve watched my share of ER in television, I know they listen to music during operations. Did they have any Beatles (Please, Please Me)? I guess some gentleman named Fran had taken the speakers out of the OR. I commented that Isn’t that just like Fran to do that and then noticed the doctors had iPods anyway. Had the Versed encouraged me to ask one of the doctors to marry me? Two deep breathes into the oxygen mask, one rather burning sensation into my IV arm and I was out like a home run baseball. As I slept, my kidney stone was lasered and pilfered into sand and particles of stone.

No one can accuse me of giving up my Beatles cause without a fight. In the recovery room, an hour and half later, I verbalized my music preferences with the nurse who was monitoring my post-anesthesia blood pressure and oxygen intake. She had seen the John Lennon ‘A Day in the Life’ tribute band and shared my Beatles zeal. I am sure I informed her that, at age 13, I had actually seen the Beatles in living concert and now at age 55, loved the tribute band Fab Four as well. Oh, and by the way, had anyone checked on my ear while I as under the anesthesia? I knew the answer even before she responded.

My favorite orderly arrived (had I only been here a day – it seemed like a week) and wheeled me into my final destination – or so I thought. We started talking basketball finals and I asked him what he thought of Steve Nash (my personal fave player in the Phoenix Suns). Steve Nash is a worm was his response, I began to laugh and felt my cut ear open up a bit. Before we could discuss this further, my post-op nurse read my chart and recognized my name. In fact we had met on the running path a year or two ago and she lives on my ex-husband’s street. My God’s little messenger with the name of Catherine was the final caring soul who decided at last to get a good look at my ear and wash it with saline. Ouch, ouch came out of my mouth though I was trying to be the brave little soldier patient. I think you are going to need stitches she said and with my best Monica Geller from “Friends” voice I said I know, I’ve been telling people that all day. Frustrated, motivated and now determined, Catherine retrieved an ER doc who concurred with her diagnosis. Now consuming my tuna sandwich and orange drink, I regained the strength I needed to be discharged from same-day-surgery and was wheeled over to the ER.

They must just really like me here. I mean now I know why Charlie Brown coined the phrase GOOD GRIEF. The triage nurse typed my information, the cashier took my $100.00 check and I settled into the ER lounge for an hour and a half witnessing a parade of God’s children streamed in for medical attention: a man with an oxygen tank requesting a ‘refill’, another gentleman who complained of back pain, a Father (or was it a co-worker) seeking assistance for his daughter’s cut finger. All these divine beings having their very human experience. I mentally recited my gratitude list – my great health insurance, $ in the bank to cover my deductible, happy, healthy home and family, clean modern hospital surroundings and a long, gone kidney stone. Before long I would have a stitched, healing right ear to add to the thankful list.

My ER nurse named Nina led me to my prep room that was bordered with Finding Nemo characters. Guess the décor was meant to be a soothing, rather whimsical distraction to medical procedures about to take place there. I gave Nina the rundown of my day, we chitchatted about her work as a nurse practitioner and the next thing I know we were laughing about the movie Nightshift . I don’t know how that came up but I was gratified for our connection as I was scared and anxious about the stitches and the shot that would be necessary to numb my ear. Dorie’s infamous phrase Just keep swimming, just keep swimming rang through my brain as I squeezed the other ER nurse Jacob’s finger. Nina administered the numbing potion to my ear, professionally sewed 8 stitches and finally bandaged my head. I giggled at myself in the mirror and asked Jacob if he thought this was a good look for me. Personally I thought I resembled a war wounded soldier ready to drag this weary body home. It had been a day-long adventure and I was ready for a plate of home-made scrambled eggs, a soak in a hot bubble bath followed by a peaceful sleep in my own comfortable bed. Papa may have been a rolling stone but this girl wanted to lay her head in HER own home.

Home - safe, sound and less one kidney stone!