The operation was a success. And it was, though not without some bumps along the way. I report the happenings for my own recollection of the circumstances.
Following the usual preparatory procedures, I was scheduled to arrive at St. Peter's at 6:15 A.M. for the procedure with the doctor at 7:30. I was dropped off and arrived at the check-in desk about 6:25, went through the usual check-in process of presenting 1.d., insurance cards, and the signing of quite a few forms and consents, etc. before being directed to the nearby waiting room. I was told the wait would not be long because she thought I was the first patient scheduled. She was right; a young woman, Jessica, quickly arrived and led me to the pre-surgical waiting room. She said my nurse would soon be with me. I don't usually ask for anything, but, citing the previous difficulty of inserting my IV, I asked if someone with experience with veins could perform that duty. So far, so good. Though during my quite-short wait, I see and hear an "old" nurse, probably aged 45-50 or so, pass by in the hall, saying apparently to herself, but out loud, "I'm not going to take this any more."
Enter "my" nurse, Elizabeth, a young woman bedecked with jewelry and colorful mask and hair scarf. (OK with me, Gertrude would have been shocked.) She had the portable computer and asked a ton of questions, most of them already asked and answered. Time is passing, but it's not my problem. Looking over the list of my 1 prescribed medications, she is stumped. I tell her what HCTZ is in the big word form and she finds and enters it. THEN, a pause: she is evidently alerted there is a meeting she must go to. She is gone about 5 or 6 minutes, and then returns to finish the rest of the questionnaire. (I later surmise she may have been called to account for some mistake or action.) Oriented to the computer, she continues with the questions, asks what type of bowel prep I had used. I said the usual. What did you take? Oh, and I'm trying to remember, Miralax, and Dulcolax, and oh, yeah, Citrate. Another question is, "Do you ever feel like hurting anybody?" I dutifully answer all her questions and when she is finally finished, she prints out a number of pages, and evidently a page of stickers, which she detaches and places on her forearm prior to applying one to each page.
A few other female nurses enter the room. I can't remember who or why they are there. They seem to be checking the equipment on the left side of the room. I'm sure I could total the ages of any of the 3 and the years would be less than my age. That's good. Youth is better than old age. They have access to newer and better technology, therefore patient care
It is now very close to 7:30 and no one has yet mentioned the IV. Elizabeth says the site will be in my hand, though last time, 2 months ago, they used the elbow area. She says that gets in the way in the operating room, with the monitoring equipment. OK with me. There are the others on the left side of my bed, so she goes to the right side and stretches my left arm across the bed. I would think perhaps not the best location for the arm, but that's OK, Whatever works. Her attempt is a painful and miserable failure. Someone removes the insert and tapes up the wound. When I ask if there is someone more skilled in putting in an i.v., Elizabeth takes umbrage. She asks if that means she is not good at what she's doing. She sticks her face close to mine, looming over the bed. Another nurse offers, in her defense, that "Everybody has a bad day." I say that would appear to be me.
Another nurse enters and the 4 of them are kind of frozen. One remarks that my right arm veins look better, and I repeat the reason for my Limb Alert Band. I say it has been some time since my breast cancer surgery, with lymph node removal, but the surgeon had told me not to use that arm. DEJA VU One nurse says to me, "That seems odd. Modern teaching advises the arm should be used after surgery," and she illustrates by swinging her arm up and around.
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