A Thank You from the Hospital

Yesterday I saw Dr. Assropractor. It was my third or fourth follow up post surgery. Or fifth? I am always surprised when the chiro/ass receptionist asks my name. I literally can’t imagine a more difficult patient than me. For a month, I was constantly calling about my horrible pain and then going into the office and being told that I looked FINE and everything was healing perfectly. Asses are funny things, I guess. Colorectal surgery is like a box of chocolates: you never know how you’re going to heal.

Meanwhile, I’m a graduate of the Dr. Assropractor School of Colorectal Surgery Recover! Perhaps I should have a tshirt made? He said I never have to return — unless I need to. I asked what the chances are that I’ll have a reason to return and of course he wouldn’t answer that. He is quite taciturn, Dr. Assropractor. I think we both hope I’ll never see him again.

When I got home and updated my Facebook status with my graduation info, someone asked if I’d told him to kiss my ass… WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT?!?!?! That was a genius response. I pride myself on my commentary, but that just slipped right by me. It may have slipped right through MY CRACK, as they say.

I came home and found this card in the mail, modeled by The Informant

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We strive to provide excellent care. Thank you for choosing Rex! Sincerely, Minor Procedure Unit Staff

1. I did not choose you, hospital. I’m sure the choice was made for me in an office building somewhere, by some attorneys and representatives: that Dr. Assropractor would be in-network with you.

2. I snorted out loud when I came to the signature, MINOR PROCEDURE Unit Staff. Clearly there was a mix-up at the post office; maybe Chuck the Mailman had something to do with it. I am still waiting for my card from the MAJOR procedure unit staff.

3. That said, you gave me excellent anesthesia — and even some versed before the surgery so I could relax — and I appreciate it. I also hope you enjoyed the sign My Chemical Romance wrote on my butt cheeks with permanent marker. You’re welcome.

Ode to the Medicine

I had “minor” surgery a week ago. And in the middle of this blog, I will share what it was — I will give SPOILER ALERT tags for those who don’t want to know. I will not spring it on you! As much as you don’t want to know, I wish I didn’t have the vocabulary to explain it.

The surgery was minor in the sense that it was outpatient and only lasted 45 minutes. Other than that, it’s been major. People have asked me, Didn’t your doc warn you about it? Well, he was very evasive about it. He keeps telling me that everyone heals differently, blah blah blah. I don’t care about everyone; I just want to know when I’ll be able to sit down without pain! (Hint: we’re at day 8 and I’m not at that point yet.)

But there has been medicine. First some versed before surgery, because my blood pressure was up, out of nervousness. Then, general anesthesia that was so awesome, I actually felt fine for that entire day. It wasn’t until 12 hours had passed that I could really feel what had been done to me.

By then it was too late and I realized that I’d inadvertently had really major traumatic surgery on a really tender spot on my body without realizing it was going to be major and traumatic. It doesn’t matter that the surgical site is small; the pain is unbearable. But there’s medicine.

SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT SPOILER ALERT skip the next paragraph if you don’t want to know what I had done –

I had a removal and repair of an Anal Fistula. You can google it if you want. It’s not uncommon — if you’re an old man with Crohn’s Disease. It has to be cut to the source, cleaned and left open to heal. I also had a hemorrhoid next to it that the doc fixed. Thanks, doc! The upshot is, I have a large gaping open wound in a place where there should only be one hole, and it shouldn’t be gaping or bleeding.

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Maybe I’m a wimp — or just one of those people who doesn’t heal quickly — but the pain has sucked away my will to live. I cannot describe it. I would only wish it on Hitler. It is so awful.

I thank the medicine for the following:

• making me able to forget about the pain for an hour or two.
• or maybe just not mind it so much.
• keeping me from throwing up after the anesthesia.
• allowing me to sleep virtually anytime, anywhere.
• helping me really not care about anything except my pain level. So yes, I might not have showered or brushed my teeth lately. Or eaten. But I don’t care.

My Chemical Romance took a couple days off work, then some friends helped me, then my mom took The Informant and My Masterpiece to Florida for a week. So I’m down to just Mineral, Animal and Cousin It. Animal and Mineral are being really helpful, so that I can lay on the couch and supervise them while they run the house. And change diapers — they will make sandwiches and do laundry and wash dishes, but they will not change diapers.

My Chemical Romance took me for a follow up appointment, in which I was certain that the doc would say, “oh my gosh, this is terrible, let’s fix you up and make you unconscious for the next month til the pain stops.” But alas, he said I look normal and fine.

Here I am nursing Cousin It at the Proctologist’s office. By the way, in Charlotte, the procto was referred to by a much cooler phrase: COLO-RECTAL SURGEON.

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Also, the drugs are not much stronger than what moms get after cesarean surgery, so I feel comfortable nursing Cousin It about three times a day.

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