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Adventures in Gall Bladder Surgery, Part II

(Read Part I here)

Hours later, I lay motionless on a cold metal tray the hospital kept referring to as “the bed”. Ultrasound finished, infection reigned king and not only was I not going home, there was a chance that at any moment my body was going to attack itself, resulting in death. I KNOW. Apparently, positive thinking and an array of various pain killing drugs alone wouldn’t be enough to heal this.

I looked up as a handsome young man strode in. Wearing an eye patch.

NOTE: He probably looked like this:


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

SECOND NOTE: In my mind, he looked like this:


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Him: “Hi, I’ve looked over your chart. Yikes! We’re not even going to be able to slice into you until we get some of that infection out of your body.”

Me: *pause* “We?”

Him: “I’m a surgery resident here. Can you lift your shirt? I’d like to be yet ANOTHER person to put my hands awkwardly and painfully onto your naked flesh.”

(okay, that last part might, MIGHT, be a slight misrepresentation of the actual dialogue. There’s really no way of knowing, and that’s the way my brain is remembering it.)

Me: “Sure.”

(silence).

Me: (carefully studying his face). Sooo… you’re wearing an eye patch.”

Him: (stabbing painfully at my sore gall bladder) “Oh! Yeah, my dog scratched my eye. I don’t actually get any days off. Damn school. So, here I am!”

Me: “Oh. Wow, um, what a really… great story.”

Him: humming “A Whole New World” from Aladdin.

Me: “So, just a quick question for you…”

Him: “Sure! Ask anything… wow, this is gross! It’s about 4 times its normal size!”

Me: “Yeah. Everybody keeps saying that. Heeeere’s the thing. Are you going to be doing my surgery? I’m only asking because while you really won me over with that fun story about your flesh eating dog, I’d feel a bit more comfortable if my surgeon was able to see out of both eyes. I mean, that kind of seems like a bare minimum thing.”

Him: (laughing) OH, no! I’m not your ACTUAL surgeon, I’m just checking you out for the real surgeon. She’ll be in here in just a moment. They barely let me do anything right now. Good one, Ms. Taylor!”

Me: “You should probably lead with that in your next room visit.”

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Adventures in Gall Bladder Surgery, Part 1.



I sat patiently in the cold metal chair, suspiciously eyeing the nurse as she stabbed my arm for the fourth time.

N: “What was your pain level again?”

Me: “About 10. Or 9. My fever’s almost 105, so I think I might be burning. From the inside.”

*pause*

Me: “Maybe if you wrote it down on the chart, it’d be easier to remember. You know, the pain level 10 thing. Written notes really help me.”

N: “Oh, yeah. Just as soon as I find this…. wait…nope, not yet. Sorry this is taking so long!”

Me: “That’s okay. Are you new?”

N: “9 years and counting!”

Me: “Oh.”

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair, considering the germs that were finding their way into my skin while I sat in this white-walled, windowless cave.

N: “Do you know your wristband is wrong?”

Me: “Oh, yeah. My name is misspelled. I tried really hard to convince your receptionist guy to give me one with my actual name on it. He tried 3 times and the best we could get was Ann Taylir. He decided it didn’t really matter.”

The nurse raised one eyebrow sharply, and ripped the needle she had just placed securely into my arm back into her not-so-steady fingers.

N: “We can’t go any further until we get that fixed!”

She took out a skinny permanent marker, and scribbled roughly onto the long piece of white paper-plastic blend.

N: “… t-a-y-l-O-r. There”.

*pause*

She flipped my arm over, and began to lower the needle towards my crazy-drug-addict looking arm.

N: “So WHAT was your pain level? 4? You look great! Like, maybe a 2.”

And then my head exploded.

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