I took myself off to a "pre-admission" appointment at the hospital yesterday (Thursday) and found out all sorts of stuff. Some of it was even to do with having surgery. After the obligatory wait in the standard pink walled, blue floored waiting room, I was called into the inner sanctum by Nurse Energiser Bunny who told me all about how she's doing two jobs 'cause they're short staffed and she's sorry that she has to answer the phone while she's sorting me out.
So we communicate using hyroglyphics and sign language for awhile as she's talking to another patient on the phone, and she establishes that I'm the guy that's described in the file she has open on the desk. Then she takes my blood pressure and tells me that it's one level above perfect but we still have to do an ECG. She explains what it is and how and why it's done while I nod as if I've got a clue. Then before I can scratch my head while looking confused, I'm lying on the bed with electrodes all over me. I'm waiting for something to happen - while she's having a chat on the phone - but next thing Nurse Energiser Bunny is ripping the electrodes off and telling me to get off the bed.
So I resume my place in the visitor's chair and she shows me this computer printout with wavy lines on it. She explains what it all means while I nod; she tells me my heart's in great shape and then she starts to take me back to the waiting room to wait for the House Surgeon... What??? Why am I waiting for the House Surgeon? Nobody's told me!! I thought I was going to see the anaesthetist!!
While we're wandering the corridor looking for the waiting room we come upon a dishevelled twenty-something dude who looks like he hasn't slept since puberty kicked in. Turns out this is the House Surgeon. He has a conversation with Nurse Energiser Bunny - it's one of those "third person" conversations people who know more than you do sometimes have about you,where you're standing right there listening, but you're totally excluded - then Dr Needs Awash takes all the paperwork off Nurse Energiser Bunny and leads me off to another room about the size of the bedroom cupboard.
We play musical chairs for a bit until I land in the "old person's chair" and he ends up in the chair guarding the door. He flicks through the paperwork while asking me the same questions that everyone else has. (I must remember to carry a packet of Tic Tacs with me.) Then he asks me if I remember what my blood pressure was? When I say "no" he looks very disappointed and starts flicking through the paperwork again, mumbling that it must be here somewhere.
After a bit he gives up trying to find it and pulls out his stethoscope. He gets up close and personal and listens to my heart and lungs for a bit (really need to remember those Tic Tacs) and then sits down to write up another piece of paper. When he's finished he tells me he's really not the House Surgeon, he's just filling in. The real House Surgeon is on holiday and will be back next week, and he'll go over this again with me on Tuesday before the surgery...??? Hmmmm... Ok.
Then I'm excused, so I wander back into the waiting room, which is now full of old people, (shut up, you kids!) and settle in to wait for the anaesthetist. A couple of days later I hear someone calling out: "Chris Flat... Flaty... Fluty...??"
"Is Chris here?"
So I wander 'round the corner and see Miss Eurasia 2005 holding a clipboard and looking at me expectantly. Her first question's an original: "How do I say your name?" After a couple of attempts we agree to disagree on how it's pronounced and she leads me away to another little room. Turns out that she's the anaesthetist. We go through another round of personal questions, just to make sure that she asks all the same ones as everyone else. Then she tells me how she's going to stick needles in me and shove tubes down my throat, but it's all going to be fine 'cause I'm apparently in pretty good shape - for my age! We talk about how many flights of stairs I can climb without passing out, and I must have come up with the right answer 'cause I get a smile and reassurance that she has no concerns at all about me having anaesthesia.... uummm!! I guess it's good that one of us isn't concerned.
Then it's disclaimer time and the tone of the conversation changes somewhat. Now she's, sort of, apologizing to me - but it's more a commentary on the sad state of society - and talking about how it's unfair and this is why I have to sign a disclaimer. It seems she's done all she can to make sure I understand the risks of anaesthesia and if I want more information I'll have to go to medical school. So I do a Bob Marley on her and tell her "everytings gonna be awright". I'm then told I can't have McDonalds on my way to the hospital - like some other patients do - cause it might cause me to throw up while I'm knocked out and the "stuff" would end up in my lungs. We agree that this would'nt be a good thing, and then I'm chucked out while being told that everyone's looking forward to seeing me on Tuesday.
Awhile later I'm sitting at home having a cuppa and wondering what I'm going to spend my Lotto winnings on when the phone rings. It's the admissions lady from the hospital who tells me that I have a pre-admission appointment that morning and that I'm booked for surgery next Tuesday. "Yes" says I, knowingly.
"No" says she - "I mean your second surgery. Dr G has booked it for Tuesday 9th."
"Oh - ok". The lady then tells me she'll send me out a letter of confirmation and that will explain everything.
So, now we're up to date. First surgery on Tuesday and second the following Tuesday. Let's hope that's all 'cause I don't want to miss out on too much TV.
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